To Serve and Protect
by F12Scuderia
Summary: Erynlith has never been so clueless. Thranduil is just like any other elf prince: A jerk. A gorgeous jerk. A gorgeous, strangely mysterious jerk. A gorgeous, strangely mysterious, deliciously artistic, heart-poundingly possessive, frighteningly daring, incredibly moody, sapphire-eyed jerk. The worst kind of jerk. Love and faith are tested by time, war, and unstable reborn elves.
1. Of Songs and Letters

**Chapter 01**

_**Of Songs and Letters**_

* * *

"_O! what are you doing?_

_Erestor, you're boring!_

_Come join me for singing!_

_The river is flowing!_

_ O! tra-la-la-lally."_

Erestor did not attempt to look up from his work. He was scribbling furiously on a paper, his eyebrows etched with annoyance, as the younger elf continued to pester him with her singing. Perhaps Erestor knew why she was singing, and decided to purposely ignore her, or he did not know, and he simply did not care. Whatever it was, his mind was set to finish what Elrond asked him of, despite being the warrior that he was also.

"You will not let me take that, will you, tra-la-la?" Erynlith asked in a singsong, looking over his shoulder.

Erestor moved the letter away from her eyes, and said, "This is not for your eyes to see. And yes, Lord Elrond will not let you deliver this message. Following what happened a few months ago, no one would send you out for sending letters ever again." He felt the need of adding a 'tra-la' at the end, but decided not to.

"Oh, but is always fun to leave the valley, tra-la-lay… oh, I rhymed!" She beamed proudly, clapping her hands in delight.

He felt an urge to roll his eyes at her. "Yeah, well congratulations, Eryn. Now please, leave me to my work. I have to finish this before dinner! Go pester Lindir all you want, tra-la-la."

She laughed at him. "Like I said, you're boring today, tril-lil-lolly," then she tapped his shoulder. "What is that for anyway? Do we get to visit Lórinand again, tra-lay?"

"No," said Erestor quickly. "This is bound for the King Elendil in Gondor, and… wait! You cannot know anything about this!" He obscured the letter once again from her. "Get going, Eryn!"

But the younger elf only slumped back on his velvety couch, her legs crossed and her lips etched with a pout. "You have been busy of late, dear friend," she whined. "You have been away in the barracks for too long, and you know how I always miss you, tra-lo. Oh, I rhymed again!"

Erestor ignored her again. Lord Elrond had trusted him of watching over this younger elf. She was a few centuries old, and cheerful. Had it not been for her relatives in Lórinand, he would not take care of her. As a child she lived with him in Imladris, occasionally traveling east to visit her uncle and cousin in Lórinand.

"Erestor…" Erynlith whined again, trying to draw his attention once more. "Hurry up with your letter and come outside with me. Did you know that _eltiria_ are in bloom again in the valley? Autumn will claim them soon and you will not see them, tra-la."

Suddenly, Erestor jerked up from his seat and pounded the wooden table.

"Now, look what you've done!" His accusing voice came. He held up the unfinished letter. At the end of a paragraph, there was a black smudge of ink. "Stop talking to me! I'm trying to concentrate here!"

She made a face. "Oh, so now it's my fault?"

Erestor fully turned to her. "Stop talking to me! I spelled _entourage_ wrong! Now, I should rewrite this all over again!"

"Not my fault, tra-la-lay," she repeated, smiling deviously at him. "And I can't believe you would spell that wrong, tra-la."

"Get out of here," he said and mumbled more incoherent words under his breath. He pulled another clean sheet of paper from his drawer and rewrote everything the other letter contained. His hands felt numb from all the writing. If it weren't for Elrond trusting him into this, he would never do it in the first place.

Erynlith stood up from the couch. "I'll see you at dinner then, dearest _scribe_ and counselor, tra-lo," she said, her voice was laced with both sweetness and sarcasm.

Erestor shot a glare at her. "Get out of here."

She did, laughing as the door was shut.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Here's a new story I've been working on since March. This chapter is more like a prologue, a little mischief here and there. We'll have Thranduil appearing next chapter and some action elves. Stay tuned! Please review and tell me what you think of the first chapter.

Have a great day ahead! ₍₍ ◝(・ω・)◟ ⁾⁾


	2. Mountainous Assault

**Chapter 02**

_**Mountainous Assault**_

* * *

"Thranduil, what are you doing?" the Elvenking inquired, peering over his son's shoulder to get a better view.

The younger one shrugged lazily in reply, lifting his work for his father to see. A sketch of the forest clearing was drawn on the rough paper, a rapid artwork but beautiful nonetheless. Oropher took the paper to examine it further, his blue eyes remarking each detail his son relayed on the sketch. And beneath him, he heard his son let another yawn, tears welling on the corners of his eyes.

"Beautiful," the King said, returning the paper back to him. "Shall we put it in a frame?"

Thranduil shook his head, folding the paper into four parts. "No need, Adar. It is a mere product of boredom."

"Ah, well then, I suppose you should go outdoors and change something in your routine once in a while," Oropher said, returning to his wooden desk in the middle of the room. His son eyed him curiously. "You have been passive of late. Patrolling the forest does not interest you anymore?"

"Not really," Thranduil answered. He tucked the folded paper in his pocket and prepared to leave the conference halls.

"Then, why don't you mingle with our people?" Oropher tried again. His son had always been interested in outdoor activities and would not mind spending time with the Silvan folk. But now, Thranduil was the passive and unsociable elf who preferred to be in his room. He knew his son was bored, with nothing interesting happening every now and then. Perhaps he wanted something challenging? Apparently, the Prince of Greenwood was not having any fun with 'normal' conversations with the Silvan maidens.

Again, Thranduil shook his head, now making his way towards the large doors. He smiled, however, a small reassuring smile for his wary father. "I would rather spend the whole day in the forest than share idle talks with people."

Oropher chuckled softly and waved a hand. "Very well. Good day to you."

"Good day to you, too, Adar," Thranduil replied politely, bowing a little, and then left.

* * *

Her smile was wider, and Erestor did not like it.

Following his submission of the letter, Elrond had quickly approved it and decided to send a group of heralds to Gondor. Of course, Erestor would take part in it; he was the Captain of Imladris, and his strength was great. He did not mind sending the letter to Gondor, though it bothered him when Elrond announced the messengers who would travel with him. Elrond handpicked some of the valley's scouts and warriors, but when Celebrían whispered something to his ear, he also called out: "Erynlith will come as well."

And that was why she was smiling, and Erestor still did not like what he was hearing.

"Lord Elrond, please," he whispered when the would-be heralds went to prepare their gears. Elrond turned to him thoughtfully, receiving his friend and counselor cordially. "I am aware of your reason for the letter, but Erynlith? Please, anyone but her."

The elf lord raised an eyebrow. "Why not, Erestor? Is there a problem with her?"

Erestor shook his head, eyeing their subject carefully. Erynlith was speaking to the other heralds; her face was bright and obviously excited. "Nothing is wrong with her, but I would feel better if she stays here. You know… where she is safe." And he wanted to save himself from the constant nonsense singing of the younger elf.

*****"_Roll-roll-roll-roll,_

_roll-roll-rolling down the hole!_

_Heave ho! Splash plump!_

_Down they go, down they bump!"_

Not from afar, Erynlith was singing constantly around Celebrían, scattering flower petals on the ground. Elrond made a mental note to have Erestor clean that when he returned.

"The road is dangerous. She is not suited for long travels, and you know it. You _should_ know it!" Erestor said impatiently.

Elrond could sense the worry all over Erestor's being. His dark eyes were pleading him. It was very amusing for Elrond's part. He did not anticipate that his task of Erestor watching over Erynlith would develop into a strong bond. It was almost like a bond between siblings. He had grown attached to the younger elf over the years, always looking out for her, always responsible for her. And Erestor do not want to be responsible if something terrible happened to her.

"Please," Erestor continued in a whisper.

"I'll see what I can do," Elrond sighed. "You are really worried, aren't you, my friend?"

Erestor gave him a small smile. "Of course, I am. There is no doubt in that."

When Elrond called her, she approached him eagerly, that bright smile ever on her face. He began talking, and Erestor watched from afar. Erynlith's smile suddenly turned upside down, in a heartbreaking frown that Erestor had never seen before. His sworn sister looked at him across the courtyard, her grey eyes shone in distraught.

"Erynlith," said Elrond, his voice gentle. "Please understand."

"But… you promised, tra-lo," she answered in a whisper, her singsong broken.

"Yes, young one, but Erestor has…"

She nodded in understanding and returned to the main house, right after swiping her hand into Elrond's robes. Erestor sighed deeply; the lighthearted Erynlith suddenly turned into a saddened one. He felt a soft hand on his shoulder. He turned and met Celebrían's eyes. She smiled and squeezed her hand into his, a warm gesture of reassurance.

Inside the main house, Erynlith sat by the window, watching the heralds gather in Erestor's orders. Her fingers twirled a paper of great importance.

"Will you not say goodbye to them, tra-la-lay?" a voice inquired. It was Lindir who smiled warmly at her. Both were minstrels of Imladris, though Lindir had adapted to Erynlith's queer manner of speaking and used it often in her presence.

She shook her head. "I am too sad to say goodbye to them, tra-la."

"Why so?" Lindir cocked his head to the side. "Did something happen that I do not know of, tra-lo?"

"Nothing happened," she said, smiling. She did not want Lindir worrying about _her_ problems.

"Well, if there is nothing," said Lindir again, "you should not look grim, my friend. Come and sing with me! I have a new song and I am sure you will like it, tra-la-la."

Before she knew it, Lindir was pulling her by the wrist, leading to the Halls of Fire where the other elves of Imladris were staying. Despite the early morning, they were already playing their flutes and harps, and singing songs in the High Speech. Erynlith could not understand them, for she and her kin in Lórinand were Sindar, and Sindarin were ever the language they used. Nonetheless, she sat among the singing elves, a harp thrust into her hands, and she played it absentmindedly.

_What he doesn't know won't kill him, tra-lay._

No words were spoken thereafter. The small group of heralds marched from Imladris and off towards the East, taking the road of the High Pass. In the bright summer morning of late October, they had left and would hopefully be back in a few months that followed, as Erestor wanted to return as soon as possible. Erynlith did not bother saying goodbye, and it was very disappointing for him. Once he returned, he would woo his sworn sister back.

* * *

**2nd November, S.A. 3432**

"We are not lost, are we, Captain?" one of the scouts asked.

Erestor shook his head. "No, this way. Follow me." He mustered his black horse forward, and it was followed by the rest of the entourage. They had been travelling the High Pass for three days now, and they only stopped for a few hours of rest. The Misty Mountains extended as the eyes could see. The weather is cold despite the autumn; Caradhras was only a few miles away. The sharp rocks which lined the pathway were dangerous; one little slip could cause a deep wound. Their horses neighed in wariness, not liking the cramped pathway at all.

Beating hooves sounded behind their caravan. Everyone turned back and some drew out their bows. Erestor quickly rode back, narrowing his dark eyes to see what it was. Not long after, a cloaked figure appeared up ahead on the misty road, and the horse neighed softly. With an order from the captain, the bows were withdrawn. The newly-arrived rider halted and dismounted the horse. Erestor did the same, too suspicious of the turn of events. The rider did not speak; the dark hood above the head clung too lowly.

"_Mae govannen,"_ said Erestor, still suspicious.

"_Mae govannen_, tra-la-lay," said the rider, and Erestor's eyes widened in disbelief.

He quickly pulled the hood off, revealing Erynlith's underneath. She blinked her eyes in the sudden light and let her vision adjust for a few moments. She looked at Erestor; she could tell he was not happy about this. Her brother gritted his teeth and forcefully grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her away from the caravan. "What do you think you're doing?!" he sharply whispered. The grip on her wrist tightened. "Do you think this is a game? Erynlith!"

She winced; Erestor's nails dug into her skin. "I was sent by Elrond!" She said in defense.

"Oh, really now?" He did not sound convinced. His grip tightened more. "What have you to say for yourself?!"

The stinging sensation on her wrist became worse, and she quickly pulled out a white envelope. In an instant, Erestor wavered; his eyes darted at the flashed paper. He looked at it in disbelief; the elaborate writing on the back was too familiar. Of course he recognized it; he wrote it after all! He snatched the letter from her hands and released her wrist. "Where did you get this?"

Erynlith caressed her aching wrist and began in a singsong. "You left it behind, brother mine, tra-la-lo. Lord Elrond panicked and asked me to deliver it after you. Thankfully, I caught up with you. Arcastar was really fast, tra-la." She talked about her favorite black horse.

Erestor look his time inspecting the unopened letter. Elrond's name printed in Tengwar was at the back of the envelope.

"I still haven't heard my thanks, tra-lay," Erynlith added playfully.

"Oh, yes," Erestor suddenly said, snapping out of his trance. "Thank you for delivering it, Eryn, but you must return to Imladris right away." As quickly as the words fell from his lips, the girl frowned again. Erestor shook his head and cupped her cheek. "Eryn, this is needless. We will back soon, I promise, tra-la-la."

She shook her head violently, umber hair swayed back and forth. "No! I came all this way and you can't make me return!"

"But Eryn—"

"Pretty please?" She gave him _the look_.

Erestor sighed in defeat. "You are kidding me."

She laughed and walked back to the eavesdropping heralds. The said heralds quickly composed themselves, acting as if they were not listening at all. But, they greeted Erynlith as one of them, and received her gladly. The caravan only had seven members, now eight including her. One herald carried the banner of Imladris, and another carried a horn. They were all equipped in armor, helm and mail shirt and all, while Erynlith was only provided with a dark tunic and jerkin and trousers which Elrond had in reserve.

After she was greeted by the scouts, she returned to look at Erestor once again. "With a skilled caravan like this, what could happen?"

Erestor did not answer her.

The distant growls and howls did.

Everyone went into their fighting stances. Bows were withdrawn again and this time, arrows were notched. Erestor pulled Erynlith onto her horse and mounted his own. Above the cliff, Orcs appeared with their teeth bared ferociously. At Erestor's command, the arrows were fired and the orcs fell on the steep pathway. More dead bodies fell down as the guards continued firing. The horses bolted up in fear, neighing wildly. Some ran off, leaving their riders on the ground.

"Hold your ground!" Erestor shouted. "Kill them!"

He notched another arrow and aimed for another orc. More streamed in, like an endless flowing river. The Orcs descended the cliff and jumped into the pathway, cornering the Elvish caravan both front and back. Some guards fended off the ones behind them, but more streamed in from in front. Erestor charged with his horse and drew his long and slender sword out. Three orcs he killed with that, but more rushed in. It was a dreadful sight for the small group of elves.

"Clear the pathway!" Erestor commanded again. "Take them out! We must escape! The pathway! Clear it!" The remaining elves complied, desperately hewing their way out of the great mess. They did not care anymore if their steeds were caught up with the poisonous blades of the Orcs; all they knew was that they had to survive.

Once the pathway was clear, enough to be bypassed, Erestor grabbed the fear-stricken Erynlith and pulled her horse's reins. "Eryn!" he shouted as their horses galloped together. She blinked and fear was still in her eyes. Erestor drove two white daggers into her hands. "Defend yourself. Whatever happens, do what you have to do!"

Erynlith weakly nodded and took the daggers from him. The caravan was on the move again, trekking the steep and sharp pathway down to the accursed mountains. Up ahead, the dense forest of Greenwood could be sighted, beyond the Anduin. As they rode on, they lost sights of the orc host behind them, and their terrible roars and growls faded.

The elves sighed in relief. Everyone was still in one piece and they had survived the first assault of the enemies. Not far away from them, another series of howls echoed. Looking behind, numerous wargs ran after them, their eyes darkened with the need to kill.

"…Erestor?" Erynlith called out to the captain. She reached out for his hands for comfort.

Erestor could see the fear written all over her face. At his one last attempt of comfort, he smiled weakly and said, "Do not worry, little one. Brother will always protect you, tra-la-la."

* * *

***Down the swift dark stream you go** \- J.R.R. Tolkien

**Author's Notes:** I would like to thank _gaarakabuto, memo bonafide, ohhnoesthuy, DeLacus_, and _horseyyay _for the lovely replies! Many thanks from you guys!

Here we have little bored and artistic (?!) Thranduil. I do hope the initial portrayal stands out from the way he is usually portrayed. Sorry for the little action (Those who have read my other fics will understand that I love doing battle scenes). Next chapter the continuation of the skirmish continues, **BUT** Thranduil will finally meet Erynlith. Just imagine his reaction when she starts speaking. LOL.

I can't wait to update but please do enjoy this one first! Once again, thank you for the positive comeback on the first chapter. Reviews are always treasured. Have a nice day! ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ


	3. At Greenwood's Mercy

**Chapter 03**

_**At Greenwood's Mercy**_

* * *

Thranduil, perched on a highest tree branch, looked far ahead. He could swear he heard some howling at a distance, no doubt from Wargs. He gritted his teeth; those foul creatures refused to leave their forest alone. Clutching his bow, he jumped off the branch and went off to mind his own business.

"Warg-riders," he scoffed.

* * *

Victory was once again at hand, but almost everyone was wounded in the process. Erynlith dismounted her horse and attended into them, but she knew nothing about healing. It had always been Elrond who excelled in this, sometimes Lindir, and of course, Erestor. She felt helpless. She could neither fight nor tend to the wounded. The work always fell upon Erestor's shoulders. The dark-haired captain tore a long strip from his blue cape and dressed the wounds with it.

"We have to leave immediately," one of the elves said again. He looked up whence the direction they had just come and the thundering footsteps of the orcs echoed again. "They are coming in fast. We must leave!"

"Leave us then, my lord," dark-haired Caladhir said; his torso deep with a warg bites. "We cannot delay any further. You have to leave us behind."

"No," Erestor said sternly. He carefully picked up the injured elf and set him back onto his horse. "We can do this. Hold on while we fend them off. Keep your eyes open. Do not sleep, my friend."

The elf nodded, closing his eyes as the pain shot up to his head. He winced inwardly but his companions could see the pain he was in.

"Incoming!" another elf shouted. Everyone looked up; hundreds of arrows rained upon them. Some were tipped with flames, the others with poison. The Elves cowered behind the protruding boulders; their horses either caught up in the assault or escaped in fear. Three of their caravan was lost in that charge; arrows pierced their torso and burned their arms.

Erynlith closed her eyes tighter as Erestor pinned her behind the boulder, his body covering her lithe frame. She pressed closer to him, a fragrant scent welcoming her, and she wished she was back in Rivendell, pestering Elrond with her singing. All of a sudden, Erestor cried in pain and collapsed on the ground. Erynlith crawled towards him and gasped. An arrow had pierced his thigh, and he was writhing on the ground.

"Erestor!" she cried, unsure of what to do. "Oh, no… Hold on, please. Hold on, brother." She looked around her. No one was alive. Their companions were all on the ground, either dead or dying. And she did not know what to do. She felt tears coming as she slung Erestor's arm around her shoulder; her other arm supporting the captain's heavy weight. She whistled sharply and waited; soon, Arcastar returned with a dutiful neigh. She set Erestor on the horse's back, careful not to move his injured thigh too much.

"Eryn… lith…" Erestor called out in broken pants. He forced his eyes open in search for her. In an instant, she was beside him, looking at him with worried grey eyes.

"You're alright, brother," she said and ran her hand across his sweaty forehead. "You'll be fine. Just let me take care of this, tra-lo." With that, she sprinted off again, pulling another injured elf into her arms. This was Caladhir, injured with deep warg bites on his abdomen. Erynlith gently pulled and swung him on top of her horse. The two injured elves were panting heavily, gasping for breath.

Arrows rained down again.

"Great, just great!" Erynlith exasperatedly muttered as she pulled her horse more forcefully. By this time, they had completely reached the end of the High Pass. The Great River Anduin was upon them, and she pulled Arcastar again. However, the orcs were persistent, and released their arrows again.

Erynlith suddenly felt an agonizing pain on her right wrist and fell on her knees. She bit her lip and writhed; her cries escaped in mewling pleas. On her right wrist, an arrow pierced through, the metal arrowhead sheathed deeply in her flesh. The blood exuded instantly and her vision faltered. She heard Arcastar neighing wildly beside her as the orcs came closer. She forced herself to stand up, stumbling side to side as if in a drunken stupor. Her grip on the reins tightened but it was Arcastar who pulled her into her feet, dragging her now to cross the river. They jumped from one rock to another; both could barely keep their balance. Behind Arcastar, Erestor groaned in pain. His eyes were closed but his jaw was clenched tightly in pain.

"_Noro lim_, Arcastar," Erynlith breathed as she collapsed on the other side of the river. Her horse only neighed and nudged her on the side. She gently patted its muzzle and said, "_Noro lim, mellon nin_. Take them to a safer place."

At this command, Arcastar sprinted off into the forest, fast enough to make his passengers fell. But his knew how much his passengers were important, and ran with great care. Erynlith watched as her black horse disappeared into the forest of Greenwood. Then, she sat up, slowly bringing her left hand to the terrible arrow on her right wrist. Ever so slowly, she snapped the arrow's shaft into two. She cried out in pain as blood continuously gushed out. Her leather vambrace was now stained with a shameful hue of crimson, and her tunic as well. She pulled the shaft from her wounded flesh; her cries fought back with the biting of lips. At last, the broken metal arrowhead was pulled off. Shards were left behind in her flesh, but she did not care anymore.

"Stupid, stupid orcs," Erynlith cursed them, slowly scrambling into her feet and entered the forest, leaving a trail of blood in her wake. She fought to keep her balance, left hand feeling for the trunk of the trees she passed by. Behind her, the orcs growled and shouted, hesitant to enter the forest of the Woodland elves. Then, she tripped over an uprooted tree, stumbling back onto the ground, her cheek kneaded through the earth beneath her. She groaned in frustration and exhaustion; her legs cannot move any longer. And the pain on her right wrist continued, as well as the blood.

"Home, I wish I am home," she whispered, the drowsiness slowly taking her. "Can't sleep, no. Erestor says it's bad… Erestor… Erestor, brother, tra-la-la. Hope you are safe, tra-la-lay."

Her voice faded into the stillness of the forest, and darkness finally took her.

* * *

Thranduil was snapped out of his reverie when loud horse neighs reached his ears. Lazily, he sat up from the tree branch he was resting on, rubbing his sleepy blue eyes and yawning. He sat there, waiting for something to come up, and he doubted himself. Was he hearing things? Most likely. His reverie was about his youth back in the West, where he would play under the beech trees and play hero with the elf marchwardens. As he slumped back to the trunk, the horse neigh became louder.

"What in the name of…?" he questioned himself. A black horse came sprinting towards him, and it halted under the tree. Thranduil looked down on the horse and gasped when he saw its injured passengers. In one swift movement, he jumped off the tree branch and tended to the passengers. He carefully laid them down on the grassy ground and examined them. "What happened? Can you hear me?"

Erestor opened his eyes, surprised of the familiar face. "Thranduil," he said weakly, his words coming in ragged breaths. "Eryn… Erynlith… Where?"

Thranduil looked around for the elf in question. He did not know who that was, but the name sounded feminine, and he looked around for a maiden. But the other passenger was another warrior, armor-clad and injured. He felt Erestor pulling him. "Please, find her," Erestor insisted, suddenly wincing when his thigh flexed. "Please…"

Beside him, Arcastar was trotting impatiently. It dug its hooves onto the earth, neighing and thrashing around.

"I'll find her," Thranduil said. "But first, let me take you into the palace. You are gravely injured and I cannot leave you like this." He laid the captain gently and sounded his horn. A few moments later, a group of Silvan elves came rushing with alarmed looks on their face.

"My lord," said one, "are you hurt?" Before Thranduil could answer, the elf's eyes lowered and saw the two injured elves. His eyes widened. "Oh, no…"

"I'll leave them to your care," Thranduil said, his voice full of authority. He strapped his bow behind his back and took Arcastar's reins. "I'll be back shortly. Get them as fast and gently as you can. I want them treated already when I return to the palace." Then, he mounted the black horse.

"Where are you going, my lord?" asked one of the guards. His companions took Erestor into their care, arms carefully slung about their shoulders. They had removed the captain's heavy breastplate and gauntlet, and they began taking him away. The others had done the same to Caladhir, who was deep asleep, but his moaned when his body was moved, torso aching all the more.

Thranduil shrugged. "I am not sure, but I need to know what is going on. I will be back later." With his command, Arcastar sprinted off to the other direction. It did not care whether the rider was familiar or not; his mistress was in deep trouble already.

The Woodland Elven-guard marched back into their palace. It was located in southern Greenwood, upon the hill they called Amon Lanc, and near the banks of Anduin. Beyond the river was the forest of Lórinand, another realm of the Silvan folk. As they drew nearer to the palace, more of the guards rushed towards them, taking the injured elves and quickly admitted them into the infirmary. The healers were suddenly attentive, running back and forth to fetch the needed supplies. One guard entered the palace and announced to the King what happened, and King Oropher followed them back into the infirmary.

"Erestor…" said the silver-haired King, placing a hand on the captain's shoulder. The healers gave little way to the King as they cut off Erestor's pants and poured water on his injured thigh. The arrow was still on place.

Erestor opened his eyes. "King Oropher…" he said, looking around the place. "Where are we? And Erynlith… where?"

"Don't worry," the King assured his friend, although he was unsure about the other elf mentioned. "Everything will be fine. Leave it all to us. Right now, focus on healing."

As the captain closed his eyes again, Oropher moved back to give the healers more space. He glanced at the other injured elf who was attended by a number of healers as well. The infirmary was incredibly roused for just a short while; some citizens even poked their heads in curiosity. One dark-haired guard came up to the King, bowed, and told him of Thranduil's plan. The King's eyebrows furrowed at that, suddenly alert, but he knew his son was capable enough to handle himself.

"He'll be back," Oropher said, more like assuring himself.

* * *

Erynlith felt something pressing against her throat. With a low moan, she fluttered her eyes open. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the blinding light, but she could see a dark figure kneeling beside her. Next, she heard something like, "Oh, thank the Valar. You're alive!" Sounds of rustling leaves and a neighing horse had awoken her from her slumber. She felt strong arms around her, slowly sitting her up, and a strong, muscled body guiding her to stand up.

"I got you," the voice said in a whisper. She did not turn to look at the newcomer, all she knew he was helping her. However, her legs weakened beneath her and she succumbed. Strong hands caught her in time but guided her back to sit on the ground. She was guided to lean back against a tree trunk; her chin was lifted and examined. "Where do you hurt?" the voice asked again.

She shook her head. "Wrist," she answered weakly. Her finger pointed to show where the injury was. "Wrist and legs… can't walk… also can't fight anymore, tra-la-lo."

Thranduil looked incredulously at this elf. Was she out of her mind? She spoke in a queer manner; the 'tra-la-lo' was laced with a little hum. He then looked down at her wrist and dried blood was about her vambrace. "Come with me," he whispered and carried her into his arms; her left arm was around his shoulders. He began to walk off, followed by the faithful Arcastar. "Is your name Erynlith?"

The elf in his arms nodded weakly, strands of her umber hair tickling his neck. "How did you know, tra-la-lo? Oh, I rhymed!"

He chuckled. "Someone told me. Are you from Rivendell? Well, you must be. The plume on your horse's headstall says so." She did not answer. He looked down at her face; she looked as if ready to sleep. "What are you doing in the forest?" He asked again in an effort to keep Erynlith from falling asleep.

Again, she shook her head. "Message to Gondor, ambushed by wargs, brother and friend are hurt. Tell me, have you seen Erestor? He is badly hurt and I am worried, tra-la."

"He is being taken care of, as we speak, tra-la," said Thranduil, feeling rather silly for adding the 'tra-la' at the end.

Erynlith laughed a little, her eyes still closed. "That is good then. Erestor and Caladhir are the only ones to remain, and also Arcastar… my brave Arcastar."

"Oh, is that your horse's name?" Thranduil, in amusement, asked again.

She nodded. "Yes, it means steadfast in Quenya. Erestor gave him that name…"

"I have heard many languages in my time," said he, shifting his arms and balancing the elf's weight. "And surely, Quenya is one of them. But us of the Sindarin lineage should stay loyal to our very own. Even the Dúnadan have learned it."

"Dúnadan, yes," Erynlith said tiredly. "King of Gondor and his sons are Dúnadan…" She opened her eyes and saw Arcastar following behind them. "Ah, Arcastar, tra-la. Really, really, brave. Tell me, elf, do you like horses? Well, you should. Horses are wonderful companions, tra-lay."

"Um, yes," Thranduil answered uneasily, already convinced that this elf was completely out of her mind. "We have few horses here in Greenwood, and I have a white one waiting in the stables."

She smiled, pressing her head against Thranduil's neck, and began to sing quietly.

"_Good horses, bad horses_

_Drinking from a milk bar._

_Fast horses, brave horses_

_Like my love Arcastar."_

Thranduil gawked at her. _She's singing about horses— what in Eru's name?_

The conversation continued all the way until they reached the palace. The Elven-guard made an attempt to take Erynlith from Thranduil's arms, but she flinched and turned their probing hands away. She refused to be touched by none other than him. With a small smile, Thranduil agreed to deliver her himself to the infirmary where the healers waited for them. Erynlith was settled into a bed near the window, adjacent to the beds occupied by Caladhir and Erestor.

Oropher returned to the infirmary when he was told of Thranduil's return.

"I didn't anticipate that you'd bring home a girl this way," the King openly teased his son in front of the running healers and guards.

Thranduil casually leaned his back against the wall; eyes darted on the injured younger elf. "Her wrist has been pierced by a poisoned arrow. I think she forced to remove the arrow, resulting in a greater damage. And she must have bumped her head onto something. She speaks oddly. It is normal for elves in Rivendell to talk as if singing?"

Oropher smiled. "This lady does. In either way, I am glad you brought her back. She seems to mean a lot to our good friend, Erestor." He went closer to Erynlith's bed and said: "How are you, Lady Erynlith? Are you comfortable with your bed?"

She winced when a healer began fixing her wounded wrist. Nonetheless, she opened her grey eyes and looked up to the King. "Ah, my lord," she said, although she did not know he was the King. "May I sleep now? That blond elf guard of yours wouldn't let me sleep. He keeps on talking, but his voice— yes; I like his voice, tra-la…"

The King glanced back to his son, who only gave a knowing smirk. "Had to be done," said Thranduil, shrugging.

"Is Erestor okay now?" Erynlith asked again. "His thigh is hurt, is it not? Erestor should never be hurt ever again. It was my fault, really my fault; I am sorry, tra-lay."

"See? I told you she speaks oddly," Thranduil called out to his father.

Oropher ignored his son. "Yes, yes, Erestor is very okay, Erynlith. You should rest. In the morning, we will visit you again."

She nodded and closed her eyes. "Okay, be back soon. I want to hear voices soon, tra-la-lay."

Thranduil spared one last glance at the eccentric elf. As he and his father turned to leave, he made a mental note to visit her again the following morning.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Hm, Thranduil and Erynlith finally meet! The sassy King (or still Prince) is rather baffled in this chapter. Even an injured Erynlith sticks to her weird singing.

_gaarakabuto_: Yes, I think her singing is kind of tourett, a tic that can be done voluntary, perhaps? But I'm sure Erynlith only does that to annoy the living daylights out of Erestor and the other elves. LOL. Thank you for the previous reviews by the way.

Also thanks to _DeLacus_ (Good to see you here!) and guest _Jahzara _(Enjoy!) for the reviews last chapter.

Next chapter we'll have more sassy Thranduil goodness. I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! Thank you for reading and reviews are always welcomed!


	4. The Infirmary

**Chapter 04**

_**The Infirmary**_

* * *

The next morning, just as Thranduil anticipated for himself, he returned to the infirmary. However, he was disappointed to learn that the eccentric elf was still fast asleep. But he took his time to see her; the wounded right wrist she had was neatly bandaged. Her cheeks had scratches and on her arms were bruises; and he wondered how she could still talk in singsongs in such a state. Her heavy tunic was replaced by a lighter one; her boots and vambraces placed on top of the table next to the bed.

"She is quite the cheery elf," said one of the healers as she entered the room, finding Thranduil standing absentmindedly in the corner.

"Ah, Santien," Thranduil said nonchalantly, addressing the auburn-haired healer. "How are the others doing?"

"They are well," Santien answered, putting down a basket of freshly-picked herbs. Her hazel eyes regarded the elf prince thoughtfully, though piercing at the same time. Thranduil shuddered; those eyes were always too sharp, too knowing for its beholder. "The minstrel heals fast. It is unbelievable. _She_ is unbelievable."

She began to rummage through her basket, slender fingers working gently on the herbs. Thranduil watched closely, almost feeling the brush of those fingers on his skin whenever Santien massaged the weariness off of him. The auburn hair cascaded like a curtain, all the way down to the slender hips, curling and bouncing at each movement of the elf. Her green silk velvet covered most of her olive skin, the sleeves flowing past her hands. She had to roll the sleeves up to keep them from her duty.

"Erestor should be up soon," he chuckled, looking over to Erestor's bed. He was sleeping and his armor was completely taken off. Like Erynlith, he had bruises all over his arms. Thranduil had known Erestor for a very long time now, being there when the Sindar moved out into the East. He was younger back then, but he respected Erestor for his valor and strength in battle. Not only was he powerful, he was also very knowledgeable, making him one of the most skilled elves Thranduil knew in his lifetime.

However, ever since their arrival in the Greenwood, the elves were sundered and they almost never had dealings with each other. Elrond would send messages every once in a while, inquiring of either daily lives or alliance, whatever he deemed worthy. But no matter how much he had known about Erestor, how come he did not know about Erynlith? Even his father Oropher did not give him the details last night.

Thranduil walked over Erestor's bed, leaning against the edge of the table. Catching glimpse of something beneath the pillow, he pulled and examined it. He unfurled a small green pennant, showcasing an emblem of green tree and three silver stars, an Elvish name embroidered on its corner. His eyes widened at that name, him wondering how Erestor could have acquired such old Sindarin heirloom.

"Are you going to stare at them the whole day?" Santien impatiently asked. Her hazel eyes were glaring at him.

He jerked up and quickly returned the pennant underneath the white pillow. "Alright, already," Thranduil sighed and held up his hands. "I'll go now… Go back into my usual _boring_ routine… with no one to talk to, no one to spend time with, and…"

"Really, Thranduil!" Santien said exasperatedly, flailing her hands. "Enough drama for today! Get out! I still have work to finish!"

He laughed heartily. "Yes, I am going!" As he left, he poked his head by the doorway and added: "If anyone of them wakes, preferably the lady, tell me as soon as possible."

Santien shrugged. "Yeah, sure, whatever."

"Tell me as soon as possible, you hear me?" Thranduil demanded playfully.

"Yes, Thranduil! Now, get out!"

* * *

The doors of the King's study room were opened. But the King did not look up; he was very much engrossed into attending on his duties. The newcomer slipped into the green couch in front of the King's desk and dropped his bow on the table.

"You haven't heard, have you?" Amroth asked the King, raking dirty fingers through the pale golden locks. He had recently returned from hunting on the northern borders of the forest. "I mean, the marchwardens were talking about an attack in the High Pass. Some claim that the surviving elves escaped into Greenwood. They saw a black horse carrying two wounded passengers."

King Amdír looked up briefly and said, "There is nothing that would catch my interest if it has nothing to do with me, ion nin." With that, he returned to his work, reading reports from his trusted captains.

"Maybe…" Amroth muttered. "I have this tingling sensation within me, Adar. What do you think could have happened? No elves cross the High Pass, other than Elrond's heralds."

The King began scribbling. "What are you suggesting then?"

Amroth shrugged. "I do not know. Like I said, I have this strange feeling of worry. Do you not think those elves are from Rivendell? What if Elrond had sent them out for a message again? You know who leads Elrond's heralds…"

"Let us discuss more _important_ matters, shall we?" Amdír groaned. "The events in Greenwood do not concern us. Not unless it perks my interest whatsoever." He returned to his writing.

"I am just worried," said Amroth, standing up and collecting his bow. He went for the door again. "Either way," he called back, "whatever it is, whether big or small, I feel the need to see what it really is."

King Amdír looked up. "Is it a hunch?"

Amroth nodded. "Positive."

* * *

Erynlith was the first to awake from the deep slumber. She rolled above the soft and warm bed, white blankets limiting her movements. She felt refreshed. She had never felt like that for centuries. The sunlight from the window blinded her momentarily; she had almost forgotten that it was autumn. Outside the window, she could see trees and birds and flowers, and these things brought smile to her face. She tried to sit up and winced at the pain.

Now that, she had almost forgotten.

She lifted her wrist, eyeing the bandage with curiosity. Then, she looked around. The room was green in hue, walls and ceilings etched with vines and leaves. Many beds were lined up on the sides. A single door was on the other side. Again, she looked around, trying to sink in the image of the unfamiliar place. As soon her eyes were laid upon Erestor's bed, seeing his motionless form, she quickly crawled out of bed and rushed to his side.

"Erestor?" she called out to him, running shaky fingers on his cheek. "Erestor, brother?"

He did not answer. But another voice did. "Do not interrupt his sleep," Santien sternly said, almost demanding. Erynlith blinked at the stranger. "He is not fully healed yet. Maybe you are, so do not interrupt him."

Hearing that, Erynlith returned to sit on the edge of her bed. "Where are we?"

"In Greenwood's infirmary," answered Santien, her voice far from friendly. "The Elven-guard found you in the woods. You are lucky to be found alive. The forest could have taken your life swiftly."

Erynlith furrowed her brows. "Greenwood… never been here before, tra-la," she muttered under her breath, left hand combing through her umber hair. She was surprised they were no tangles. The other healers must have combed it while she slept. "How long have I been out?"

"A whole day," Santien replied. She was mixing and pounding herbs, and then poured hot water in it. She walked towards Erynlith. "Here, drink this," she said, offering the herbs in a cup. "It will help soothe your system. You must be hungry, but solid foods will take harder to digest. Drink that for the moment." Then, she stood up and went back to her work.

Erynlith smelled the cup and quickly drew it away from her nose. "Valar! What is that smell? It's _awful_!"

Santien did not appreciate that. "Herbs to help you live longer," she said sternly. "Drink that and it will make you feel better."

The other elf cringed. "Ugh, just look at it! It's too green and slimy and smells really bad, tra-lay. Are these vegetables?"

"Yes." Santien rolled her eyes. "Now, drink that. I am making one for your friends as well."

"Oh, don't bother," Erynlith said, putting the cup down on her bedside table. "Erestor can drink mine, tra-lo…"

"No, he will not," the healer insisted, ignoring the singsong. It was obvious she was losing her patience to this younger elf. And Santien did not even know her name, not that she wanted to know anyway. All she wanted to do was do her job as the King trusted her to do, and then get these trespassing elves out of the forest. Their gears and weapons and armors did not match that Greenwood had, and it made some of the Silvan folk uncomfortable.

But Erynlith ignored her as well. She ran her hand on Erestor's forehead, lovingly stroking the dark hair and pale cheeks. Then, she began to sing softly, as if coaxing a child to sleep:

"_To sleep would be folly,_

_To sing would be jolly,_

_Erestor, wake up now._

_Let's ride to the meadow,_

_And be back for dinner._

_Please listen to the singer…"_

She could not go on longer; sadness filled her heart as Erestor laid bedridden in front of her, utterly indisposed. Leaning over, she kissed him on the brow, and then on both cheeks.

For a moment, Santien felt sorry for their fate. "Drink that already so I may tell the King you have awoken," the healer suggested, her stern voice fading.

"King?" Erynlith echoed, turning back to her. "I didn't know Greenwood is run by a King, tra-la."

"Well, now you know. Speaking of kings, it reminded me of something…" Santien looked directly at her, hazel eyes thoughtful again. "Someone wants to meet you. Be careful though; he is quite an annoying elf, that one."

* * *

Thranduil was bored out of his mind. Here he was, minding his own business in the almost-empty library. Almost. On the other side of the room, a librarian was quietly stacking the books back into the shelves. He groaned quietly, seated on the corner.

"My lord," the librarian said in a soft whisper.

Thranduil did not look up; rather, he did not hear the librarian's voice. He was focused on his work at present, a sketch he had been working on absentmindedly. His chin was propped under his left hand, blue eyes staring lazily at his work, as his right scribbled randomly on the paper. Then, he yawned, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. His mind was still bothered by that pennant, years from the old West coming back to him.

Once again, the librarian called out to him, her voice louder. "My lord Thranduil," she said.

His chin slipped from his palm and he jolted awake, looking up to the dark-haired librarian. "Yes?" he asked impatiently.

"Lady Santien has asked for you," the librarian politely said. "She mentioned something about the guests in the infirmary…"

"Ah, yes." Thranduil moved to stand up. _Finally_, he thought. He murmured his thanks to the librarian. He looked at his work; a random sketch of his father's throne was the product of his boredom. But he thought the sketch looked well; perhaps he might show it off to someone later. He exited the library he had been hanging around for a few hours. He made a mental note not to finish his duties when it was still very early.

Few elves greeted him on his way to the infirmary. Clad in silver brocade and dark trousers, he did not look like royalty at all. His pale golden hair was combed back neatly; his gem-studded rings were not present. He only had a silver brooch upon his collar, studded with emerald. He descended the intersecting staircase in the palace's foyer and then passed by a small fountain. He reached the infirmary in no time, and before he entered, he made an effort to fix his brocade and dusted off his trousers.

When he entered, Santien was glaring at him.

"What?" he asked innocently, closing the door behind him.

"I am not obliged to watch over a little elf if that is what you meant by 'what'."

He blinked again, unable to grasp her meaning. "…What?"

"Really, Thranduil!" Santien groaned exasperatedly. "Have you lost your mind somewhere?! Have you any idea how to keep track of that… _that elf_?! She has left the infirmary without my knowing and now I cannot find her! The King will get us both if he finds out about this!"

"Oh," he said in realization. He looked around; indeed, Erynlith was not there, only the sleeping Caladhir and Erestor. How could she leave her friends just like that? Shaking his head and avoiding Santien's glare, he went off in search for her.

He asked the Silvan elves he passed. Apparently, none of them saw the elf in question. Thranduil had described her as "an umber-haired elf with bright eyes and strange manner in speaking". However, none of the elves still saw her, and they do not even know why their prince demanded to know. In Thranduil's part, he understood the worry of Santien. They were both entrusted by the King to attend to their injured guests; should Elrond find out that his people were treated otherwise, a conflict may arise between Rivendell and Greenwood.

And the girl was supposed to be injured. He kept that in his mind. What could an injured elf do outside the infirmary? She was still just a newcomer in the forest. She knew _nothing_ about the places she could visit. Thranduil gritted his teeth; he had reached the foyer once again, but no sign of the girl.

Now what?

As if reading his mind, the Captain of the Elven-guard walked up to him, a recurve bow on hand. "Looking for someone, Thranduil?"

Thranduil turned to see his dark-haired friend, clad in thick green tunic and breeches. The Captain was tall and lean, walking in such grace that he was envied. His dark hair was braided in two plaits behind the pointed ear, and a smile ever graced his youthful face. But he was no youth; he had known Thranduil back in the Elder Days.

The elf prince nodded and walked toward his friend. "Yes, Raithon. You remember the girl I rescued yesterday? She has left the infirmary without Santien's knowing. I was asked to find her."

"Oh, yes, I remember," Raithon chuckled, grey eyes showing interest in the matter. "She passed by the outpost earlier this morning, and greeted me and the other guards. When I asked about her, she mentioned something getting _something_ for her brother. I do not know but she speaks really strangely, you know… Always trailing her sentences off with 'tra-la' or something like that. She seemed friendly and innocent. Anyway, she went that way, past the outpost and possibly in field beside the river."

"And you did not stop her?!" Thranduil asked in disbelief.

The captain shrugged innocently. "How should I know? She looked really well anyway. I thought she wanted to get some fresh air."

Thranduil groaned and walked away. "Fresh air," he snorted. "If something happens to her, I am blaming _you_!"

* * *

*Santien – Daughter of the Garden

*Raithon – He who strives

**Next Chapter:** Thranduil finds Erynlith, and well... things happen between them.

**Author's Notes:** Hooray for another update! *throws confetti* Sorry for the lack of Thranduil/Erynlith for now. I wanted to establish some character relationships before proceeding. I hope you like the chapter; we've got some crazy Santien and Thranduil things going on here.

By the way, Amdir and Amroth were the Sindarin monarchs of Lothlorien (previously called Lorinand) before Celeborn and Galadriel. :)

Many, many thanks to the reviewers last chapter: _xSiriuslyPadfoot__, SimplySupreme, DeLacus, Rousdower_, and _Jahzara_! I am glad you guys like Erynlith so far! I promise to make the next chapter more interesting for everyone who reads this story.

Until next update! Please review; opinions and suggestions are always welcomed!~


	5. Bluebells for Erestor

**Chapter 05**

_**Bluebells for Erestor**_

* * *

"_Roses are red, bluebells are blue_

_Oh, I wish I am home with you_

_Erestor, you silly… fondue_

_Back to the place where I met you."_

Erynlith sang as she arrived at river banks of Anduin. Right before her, a field of blooming flowers greeted her. The field was carpeted in richly-colored bluebells, and the late autumn wind was warm. It breezed past her, umber hair flying as it went. She tucked her hair behind her ear and proceeded to the field. She knelt down in the middle, observing the bluebells before plucking some out one by one.

"Bluebells, bluebells, tra-la-lay," she continued singing to herself. "Pretty, pretty flowers in Greenwood, tra-lo." Her arm was now full of bluebells. She smiled happily, like a child given a new toy. "Erestor likes flowers… the _eltiria_ that bloom in Rivendell. I wonder what other names the elves have for bluebells, tra-la-la?"

She looked up ahead, beyond the Anduin. There was Lórinand, the valley of gold. She wondered if someone could see her right now; the marchwardens of Lórinand were terribly vigilant of their surroundings. Remembering the Silvan elves living there, she sighed and the feeling of emptiness welled inside her. She missed her cousin in Lórinand and it had been years since they last saw or heard of each other.

"Maybe I should visit them sometime?" she asked herself and stood up. Santien had given her a dress earlier that morning, a pale blue dress that touched her ankles. Although not the one for dresses, she thanked the snobbish Silvan healer and took the dress.

"Ah, there you are!" Someone chirped behind her.

Erynlith jumped up in surprise and quickly hid the flowers behind her back. Thranduil was striding towards her now, handsome and graceful. The look on his face was thoughtful, but mischievous at the same time. As he reached her, he titled his head to the side and said: "I have been looking everywhere for you, my lady."

She blinked. "You are?" And then blinked again. "Wait, who are _you_?"

Thranduil frowned lightly. He was disappointed not to hear her 'tra-la' kind of singing. The elf did not seem to remember him from yesterday, even if he was the one who rescued her. "You don't, remember? Well, I don't blame you." He leaned closer, his hands behind his back. "Now, my lady, what do you have behind your back?"

She flinched, not expecting that question. Or perhaps she should have expected it first? "Nothing, really…" She felt the need to leave the 'tra-la' out.

"My name is _Lascalen_," he said cordially, blue eyes glinting in mischief.

Erynlith quickly held out her hand in an attempt to shake his hand. Instead, Thranduil took it and kissed the back of her hand. "I am Erynlith," she answered, withdrawing her hand. When silence fell between them, and the other elf was still silent, she pursed her lips awkwardly and said: "Um, can I help you?"

Thranduil chuckled. "Well, yes, you can. I was sent to fetch you back, actually. The healer from the infirmary was quite worried when you left without permission. You should be aware that you are not fully-healed yet, and you might hurt yourself even more. The King has tasked us to make sure of your well-being. And we will do what we are told. So, please, bear with me and return to the infirmary with me."

She fell silent. This elf sounded like Erestor on a daily basis. Gripping the stems of the bluebells tighter, she nodded and began following him. She spared one last glance on the lovely field of bluebells. As they reached the forest once more, Thranduil looked back at her, making sure she was following. His companion was looking around, often wandering about to check on something she had probably never seen before.

"Oh, look! Hold up!" Erynlith suddenly called out, walking away from him. For the umpteenth time, Thranduil turned around and watched her. Behind the bushes, a small fox emerged, sniffing the ground. Erynlith knelt a few inches away from the creature, on her face was a big smile, and stretched out her hand. "Come here, little one," she began cooing, much to Thranduil's amusement. She flicked her fingers. "Come here; let me pat you for a moment…"

The fox did not move. It only stared at the eccentric elf. Erynlith tried again. "Puppy… Come here, boy…"

Thranduil pinched the bridge of his nose, and murmured. "We're never going to make it to the palace."

At last, the fox complied and scampered towards her. Its bushy tail wagged to and fro, the long muzzle probed around, sniffing her hands and legs for treats. Erynlith smiled and patted the fox lovingly; on her other hand was the bouquet of bluebells. When she was satisfied, she bid goodbye to the fox. "See you later. Be careful in the forest, puppy, tra-la-la."

His ears perked up in that strange singsong voice again. Slowly, a smile made its way to his lips.

"You like animals?" he asked, trying to make a small talk.

She stood up. "Oh, yes. In Rivendell, we only have few horses and birds. No foxes of the like, tra-la." At her brief moment of realization, she slapped a hand to cover her mouth, embarrassed of her words. It was always Erestor who heard all her singing antics, sometimes Elrond and Lindir.

Thranduil chuckled. "Is this your first time in Greenwood?"

Again, she nodded. "We never traveled as far as Lórinand."

"And why not?" he asked, arching an eyebrow and looking down at her.

"I do not know." She shrugged. "Erestor always comes with me when we travel. And do you know Gildor? We always travel together in the forests in Arnor. It takes us months to return to the valley, tra-lay… oh, I rhymed!"

He fondly smiled again. "Ah, Gildor…" Thranduil muttered, trying to recall the appearance of the said elf. Gildor was known for his seemingly endless travels. He looked down at her again and noticed that the bouquet was now held in front of her. He smiled mischievously. "Ah, _luinell_. So, you've found them, haven't you? You should not go picking flowers from the forests."

Her brows furrowed. "Why not, tra-lo?"

"Because the forest is alive," he answered. "It needs every blade of grass, every green leaf, and flowers to live. If you keep on doing that, the forest will soon wither away. I must refrain you from picking any more bluebells from now on."

The girl nodded obligingly, and he was pleased at the look of disappointment on her face. "Moreover, the King will punish everyone who picks his flowers."

Her face blanched, just like the way Thranduil anticipated. "What?"

"The King likes his _luinell_, you see?" he continued as they went nearer to the palace. "He doesn't want anyone picking them."

Erynlith looked down on the flowers in great defeat. "Oh, too bad, tra-la."

Thranduil laughed heartily. "I am only bluffing!" he said between laughs. Before he knew it, his companion huffed and stomped away, leaving him quite dazed. He followed, of course, and was surprised that she knew her way back to the infirmary.

"My lady!" he called out to her, already forgetting what her name was. "I was only _joking_. Do not be angry!"

She did not turn around. Who was he to make a fool out of her? He was supposed to be _helping_ her! "I already dislike Greenwood," she huffed. She found the infirmary in no time. At the doorway, Santien was standing, glaring and all, her arms crossed. Erynlith avoided her gaze and slipped past her as Santien's eyes followed her accusingly. Soon after, Thranduil followed, also greeted by the healer's glare.

"What?" he asked innocently. "I brought her back, didn't I?"

Santien growled. "You did when it was way past lunchtime!"

He sighed exasperatedly. "_At least_ I brought her back."

* * *

Elrond sighed and rubbed his temples. He then rested his elbows above his desk, fingers entwined; but his eyes looked directly at nothing, his mind in deep thought. The soft knock on his door made him blink. Beyond it, Celebrían's voice sounded, asking to be received. Grunting, Elrond pushed himself from the desk and opened the door. Celebrían smiled and entered; a silver tray of teapot and cups were there. Elrond led her towards the couch and she began pouring out the tea.

"Any news of them?" Celebrían asked, offering a cup to him.

Elrond accepted and sipped lightly. "I'm afraid not. I've sent other scouts but they all turned around before even reaching the High Pass. Something has happened to them. I am sure! If something really terrible happened to them… if Erestor or Erynlith are hurt, I cannot forgive myself."

"Don't say that," Celebrían said and took Elrond's hand into hers. She smiled softly. "They are fine. They must be somewhere in the woods right now, in Lórinand or in Greenwood. You know Erestor; he will never let anything happen to his friends. He is very knowledgeable about things. They are fine. You'll see." Then, she leaned in and planted a swift kiss on his cheek.

"Perhaps you should become my counselor instead of Erestor," Elrond said with a smile.

She laughed. "I don't mind that. You're giving Erestor all the work! Captain and counselor? You should really consider his well-being!"

"There is no one who can do it other than him," Elrond admitted. He leaned back to his couch. "I am considering making Gildor a counselor. But you know him; always traveling about and rarely comes home. He enjoys Lindon more than Rivendell these days."

* * *

Erestor slightly waved his hand as the Erynlith entered. He sat up a little from his bed, torso and arms covered in bandages. He had awoken just this morning after Erynlith, and he was disappointed not to see her there. Santien attended to him immediately, redressing his wounds. His shoulder wound was still open slightly; livid scar showed itself. Then, Santien offered him the same medicinal tea, and Erestor took it gratefully. The taste lingered in his tongue, a mix of sweet and sour, and he wondered if Erynlith had already drunk hers. When Santien said otherwise, he chuckled at the expected turnout.

Now, well now, his smile became wider at the sight of her; the pale blue dress she wore suited her well, he thought. And as she went closer, Santien was accompanied by another elf that he knew very well. Erestor gave Thranduil a little nod before turning back to Erynlith. Her eyes looked at him in disbelief.

"Good afternoon, little one," Erestor greeted her.

Erynlith smiled and swiftly drew him into an embrace. "Erestor!"

He winced when he was crushed by her. "Ow! Injured… shoulder!"

"Oh, sorry, tra-la…" Erynlith gasped and withdrew. Erestor was soothing his left shoulder. "Oh, are you alright, brother?" She continued worriedly.

He nodded, still groaning softly. "I will be… Where have you been?"

Swiftly, she presented the bouquet in her hands; the blue petals fell from the roughness of her movement. Erestor's eyes followed the falling petals, picked one that fell on his lap, and stared at Erynlith with wide eyes. She smiled and placed the bouquet in his hands.

"These," she said, picking the petals and giving them to Erestor, "are your little gift from me, you silly elf, tra-la-lay." She closed his hands and held them. "You really made me worry out there, brother. I thought I was supposed the mischievous one, remember? You just had to act so noble and dauntless. Well, lucky you, I am a reliable person. And I will never leave you behind, tra-lo."

She embraced him gently, now too careful not to touch his still-aching shoulder wound. Erestor smiled softly and wrapped his arms around her, pressing a soft kiss on her forehead. He buried his nose on her umber hair; the scent of the forest and sun was already caught up in it. When they broke away, they both looked down to Erestor's lap and laughed when the bouquet of bluebells was squished from their embrace.

"Now, look what you've done!" Erynlith cried, holding up one squished flower.

Erestor laughed harder. "Oh, I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'll get that fixed right away." He tried to take the flower from her.

"No!" said the younger elf, drawing her hand away. "You ruined it already! It's _really_ squished!"

"I'll fix it, I said!" Erestor said, still laughing. "Maybe water can nourish it back to health, or something."

The conversation between Erynlith and Erestor continued. They talked about nothing in particular; Erynlith just kept on talking and talking to keep her brother from falling asleep again. And Erestor had always enjoyed her company; he laughed at her eccentricities, the little inside jokes she learned from Gildor during their travels. Even Santien and Thranduil listened, with the blonde elf prince quietly laughing every once in a while. It was a little late in the afternoon when Santien insisted that Erestor should get more rest, which he gladly obeyed. Erynlith was also asked to rest inside the infirmary, but she declined, wanting to get more exposure of the unfamiliar forest.

"I'll take you out," Thranduil offered, already opening the door for them.

Erynlith had completely forgotten that he was there in the first place. She assumed he already left after their little misunderstanding that afternoon, and that he would not show his face afterwards. She glared at him, something she rarely did to her friends at Rivendell. She was not an entirely snobbish elf, only that she disliked how Thranduil had been dishonest of her and even making her look ridiculous.

She crossed her arms and lifted her chin. "No, thank you. I do not like you, tra-la."

Thranduil look stunned while Erestor raised an eyebrow. Did Erynlith even know whom she was talking to? To whom she was being hostile with?

"Oh my," Thranduil smirked. "I did not intend to be dishonest. I can be nice."

Erynlith faked a loud gasp and sneered at him. "Excuse _you_!"

"And I am extremely humble," he added.

She rolled her eyes, scooting closer to Erestor as she sat on the edge of his bed. Then, she whispered to Erestor's ear audibly: "He was bullying me, brother, tra-la-lo…"

Before Thranduil could shoot something back in his defense, Santien quietly grabbed him by the elbow and shoved him out of the infirmary, sharply whispering something in Silvan. Erestor and Erynlith heard Thranduil whisper something back as well, his voice accusing and raised, but the healer shrugged him off and slammed the door in his face. Santien huffed and returned to her work on her desk, concocting another medicinal tea for the sleeping Caladhir.

"They are very familiar with each other, aren't they?" Erestor said amusedly, referring to Santien and Thranduil, as he slipped under his covers.

Erynlith smiled and helped him adjust his pillows. "Yes, maybe, tra-la. Anyway, you should really get some rest. I'll see you later at dinner, okay?"

Erestor nodded thoughtfully and closed his eyes. "I will."

As he dozed off once more, Erynlith sat on a chair and pulled it beside the bed. Her hand combed through his dark hair, that soft hair she even wondered how he managed. As his breathing became lighter, she sang songs to him in a whisper, suddenly wary with Santien's presence on the other side of the room. On Erestor's bedside table, the bouquet of bluebells was placed within a red vase.

* * *

***Luinell** \- Bluebells (from _luin_ "blue", and _nell_ "bell")

***Eltiria** \- Stargazers (from _el_ "stars" and _tiria_ "watch, gaze")(I kind of see them as the Lily Stargazers, you know? Those pretty flowers)

**Next Chapter:** Some history behind Erestor and Erynlith... and more Thranduil/Erynlith mischief with King Oropher.

**Author's Notes: **Yay for Thranduil and Erynlith meeting! For some reason, I can imagine Thranduil being very mischievous or something, making fun of other people and all that. He didn't even give her his real name! Apparently, our weird elf is not impressed. And yes, she thinks Erestor is a fondue ( ._.)

Thanks you all for the reviewers lat chapter: _xSiriuslyPadfoot_, _DeLacus_, _Rousdower _, and _xummy10_. Thank you very much for giving Erynlith your support (I'm sure she's singing about it somewhere by now). For fangirling over Amdir and Amroth, I'll give them to you in the upcoming chapters, DeLacus! Because those Sindarin kings need more love.

Please review! I'd be happy to read some feedback from you guys! Ciao! ( ˘ ³˘)❤


	6. Untold Stories I

**Chapter 06**

_**Untold Stories Part 1**_

* * *

More days went by. Every morning it was the same: Erestor would wake up with a smiling Erynlith at his bedside, offering him new flowers. During her explorations around the forest, she found different flowers, but she always ended up giving him bluebells. Then, they would talk; Santien would redress his bandages and offer him the medicinal tea. They shared breakfasts and luncheons and dinners together; Erestor was very satisfied with it. Their companion had also awoken, Caladhir, and he spent most of his time attended by Santien and the other healers.

Erestor's wounds faded into scars. The one on his shoulder was already healed, albeit it still hurt at times. The wound on his thigh was greater, a deep puncture that had him bed-ridden for the days. The pain lingered sp painfully that it kept him awake during the night. But the presence of Erynlith had always reassured him.

"Are you brother and sister?" Santien had asked Erynlith one day; her curiosity got the best of her.

Erynlith looked up from Erestor's bedside as he slept peacefully. She was taken aback by that question, and it took her longer to respond than she expected. Were they brothers and sisters? She could not remember if they actually were. It had been too long for both of them to remember how it all began.

* * *

Somehow, some centuries ago, Erynlith remembered spending time with both her father and mother in Rivendell. Elrond, Celebrían, Gildor, and Erestor were all there to witness her childhood. Things took an unexpected turn when her parents suddenly did not return from a journey. And Erestor was with them back then. She remembered running out into the valley's bridge one rainy day, excited to greet and ask her father about their journey. But Erestor came. All alone. His silver armor was daunted and scratched; the once blue and white banner he held was deep with crimson. His dark eyes were blank and disheartened. His scouts rushed and took the banner from him; but he did not speak even as Elrond and Gildor asked of him what happened.

Erynlith remembered Celebrían holding and obscuring her view of the downfallen Erestor, falling into his knees without a word. She was but a child back then, too innocent of how the world worked. Elrond tried to snap Erestor out of it, using small words to know what had happened, and why he returned alone when he journeyed with _more_ than thirty elves. Erestor wavered then, lifting his head and locking his blank gaze at Erynlith.

"_Penneth,"_ he had whispered weakly. In that call, Erynlith removed Celebrían's arms around her and knelt in front of the captain. All of a sudden, Erestor wrapped his armor-plated arms about her small body, pulling her closer to him as he buried his face in her hair. Erynlith was in daze, but she melted into his embrace and kept silent. She was scared for some reason. She felt Erestor shaking beneath his cold armor as the rain began to pour harder.

"_Mellon nin_," Erynlith whispered back, trying to calm her friend. She looked at him in the eyes and said: "What's wrong? Where is everyone? Where are Father and Mother?"

Erestor shook his head in dismay; his grey eyes now glinted in tears. He embraced her once more, tighter this time as if he would never let her go. He began to sob; his tears cascaded onto her dress like the rain, and she became more scared for him than for herself. "I am sorry," he whispered; his voice was trembling with the sobs. "I am so sorry, little one. I have failed you. Forgive me… I am _so_ sorry."

She did not understand what he meant. All she knew was that Erestor was overwhelmed with grief and regret, and that her parents would never return to her. Tears fell silently as she bit her lip; there was much crying in the valley that day. Erestor kept his hold on her, firm and sure, as he mourned for their loss. From the embrace, Erynlith remembered looking up to see Elrond. Lady Celebrían was in his arms back then, crying and sobbing onto his chest. Elrond sighed and closed his eyes, also yielding to his grief. Then, Erynlith looked around for Gildor. The golden-haired Ñoldo cast his eyes on the marbled courtyard, not caring if the rain drenched his white cloak or himself.

Soon after that fateful day, Erestor came up to Elrond's council chambers and boldly announced that he would take Erynlith as his daughter. Everyone was shocked, and Gildor almost fell from his seat.

"Do you even hear yourself?" the Ñoldo demanded. He glanced at Elrond before continuing: "You _do_ know that the King of Lórinand is on his way to reclaim his niece, yes?" He hoped the answer was yes.

"I do," Erestor had answered sternly, his eyes ever focused on Elrond. "Even if the King claims Erynlith, I want her to stay with me, here in Rivendell."

"And why should that be?" Elrond said as he hushed Gildor back to his seat.

At that question, Erestor lowered his eyes and he turned solemn. "I feel responsible," he whispered. "I wish to set things right. And although I know Erynlith in Lórinand would be for the better, I simply cannot ignore that I have become too attached to her." Then, he had looked at Elrond again. "You know I am fading, Elrond. That was a mistake that I am willing to live with for the rest of my life. With Erynlith, I feel more alive. So, please… let her stay with me."

Elrond's dark eyes softened upon hearing those words. Erestor had been Erynlith's mentor as a child, whenever her father would go out hunting or her mother weaving with the other elf-maidens. He had basically been with her for the majority of her life, and they were inseparable friends. Ever since Erestor's lonely return, it was Erynlith who always visited him in his room, with one or two stories to share. At night, she would return to her own room and spend the cold night alone, without her parents to bid her goodnight.

Reluctantly, Elrond nodded, much to Gildor's surprise. "Very well, then… I will have to talk it over to the King if he would allow Erynlith to stay. But I should warn you that the King is quite territorial, especially with his family members, and would not hesitate to retaliate at your claim to his kin."

Erestor looked dauntless. "I will fight for my claim on her."

Two weeks later, the King of Lórinand and his son arrived in Rivendell. With them came a great entourage, and the golden-haired King was received with honor. He instantly demanded to see his niece, the daughter of his lost younger sister, but Erynlith did not come. She was latched onto Erestor's legs like a leech, her grip too tight on his pants. But Erestor faced the King courageously. As the two elves seemed to defy each other with blank looks, the King's son emerged from behind and invited his cousin elsewhere. At this, Erynlith remembered herself smiling and happily following her older cousin out into the courtyard.

The King of Lórinand and Erestor had a long talk. It took them hours to come into resolution. Apparently, Erynlith had chosen to stay with Erestor, whether the King would like it or not. Before the King could say something, his son agreed with Erynlith, his support had been with her from the start. With a heavy heart, the King also agreed and left back for Lórinand, after making Erestor promise that he and Erynlith would visit the forest every once in a while.

Everything was renewed. She was now considered Erestor's daughter, and everyone outside of Rivendell was convinced that it was really the case. Erestor did not fade anymore; he had someone to hold on to, after all. Elrond interpreted it as her love for Erestor. When he asked her why she chose to stay, Erynlith remembered telling Erestor: "I will never leave you behind."

* * *

Santien asked the same question again, and Erynlith was snapped back to reality. She realized she was staring into nothing as the auburn-haired healer passed by her. Santien placed a bowl beside Caladhir's bed and pressed a damp cloth on his forehead. She repeated the same question, now impatient, and she wondered if the other elf was listening at all.

"Are you brother and sister?"

Hearing the same question being asked for the third time, Erynlith smiled and nodded. "Yes, we are," she whispered. "It is a very long and interesting story, but Erestor and I are brother and sister, and maybe even more than that, tra-la-lay… I could sing the story if you want…"

"No, thank you." The auburn-haired healer wanted to spare herself from another eccentric song.

Erynlith smiled. Too many years were already spent since that day. They had come a long way from mentor and student, captain and admirer, father and daughter. Now, as the years passed, she was no longer the child Erestor had to keep an eye on. She grew into the elf he wanted her to be, although eccentric and immature at times. Whenever someone regarded their strong bond with each other, they were always Erestor and Erynlith. Brother and sister.

"I'm going out for a walk, tra-lo," Erynlith sang as she headed out. "Want me to get you something?"

Santien smiled at the younger elf's thoughtfulness. "No, I am good. Just be back early so I can check your right wrist. It doesn't hurt anymore, does it? Well, if it's not, I'll still see you later. And don't get in trouble, especially with Thranduil."

Erynlith nodded and went out, wondering who this Thranduil person was. She did not remember being introduced to someone named Thranduil. At first she guessed it was the friendly dark-haired Captain of the Guards, but then she remembered his name was something else… Raithon, was it? Perchance it was the relentless blond elf guard who bullied her since day one. But his name was… Lascalen, right?

Shrugging, she entered the palace. Few of the Silvan elves already knew her; they had heard from their King a great deal about the newcomers. The Silvan greeted her cordially, something very heartwarming for her. And she would greet them back and move on to her business. Speaking of the King, she had never met him since they had arrived in the Greenwood.

_I suppose the King was too busy for commoners_, she thought.

* * *

Thranduil's eyebrow twitched as the Captain of the Guards smirked at him, and he did not even know why he was smirking. Somehow, it made him inferior. He was Thranduil, Prince of Greenwood the Great. How could his friend make him feel lower than he was? As Raithon went ever closer, Thranduil took away the sketch he was working on and waited for his friend.

"Don't give me that look," he said as Raithon curled up on the seat next to him. They were in the library, Thranduil's favorite place to doze off. "What do you want? And what are you doing here?"

Raithon tapped the wooden table absentmindedly. "I just visited the infirmary to see how Santien and the others are doing."

Thranduil yawned lazily, clearly uninterested. "Great. Where do I come in?"

"I wanted to ask how things are going with you and the other injured one," Raithon said. When Thranduil raised his eyebrow in inquiry, the captain sighed and groaned. "You're quite slow today, aren't you? You know… that strange minstrel you keep talking about the other day."

"Oh," was all Thranduil could say; realization dawned to him late. He shifted in his seat so that his legs were above the table. "I haven't visited the infirmary for days. Work keeps on getting to me, you know. Why are you even asking? And I don't think she's a minstrel; just a very confused elf who took a blow on the head, maybe."

Raithon laughed. "Well, minstrel or not, I heard from the other guards she sang for them last night. Everyone was cooped up in the outpost just to hear her sing."

"What?!" Thranduil jerked up and fell from his chair.

"Are you alright?!" Raithon instantly stood up, checking if his friend was fine.

Thranduil emerged beneath the table and glared at the captain. "What do you mean she was at the outpost last night?"

"How should I know?" Raithon shrugged, returning to his seat. "I was out patrolling the forest last night. The wargs are lingering near the mountains. Anyway, aren't you supposed to be updated with the things going on the palace?"

"Apparently not," Thranduil scoffed. "Who would even invite such a strange elf in the outpost? And why would she even come?"

"Thranduil, I don't know everything, okay?" The captain sighed. Then, his smirk turned sly. "Why don't you ask her?"

The elf prince tilted his head to the side questioningly. Raithon rolled his eyes and said: "Oh, come on, Thranduil. Don't tell me you don't know she is in the palace even as we speak."

"What is she even doing here?" The prince growled and went for the doorway. "She's supposed to be in the infirmary!"

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to give Santien a piece of my mind!"

Raithon waved a hand. "Good luck with that. Make sure she doesn't slam the door before you could even speak!"

Thranduil hurried back into the infirmary; the fact that Erynlith was in the palace was lost in his mind temporarily. What part of 'watching over the injured' did Santien not understand? She could keep Caladhir and Erestor on check, but not Erynlith? He shook his head in disbelief, pace getting faster as he reached the end of the hallway. An arched corridor connected the palace to the infirmary and other buildings. When he arrived there, he was surprised that Santien was not around. The younger healers were there to greet the elf prince, and they asked what he wanted. Thranduil only shook his head and smiled a little. Then, he went over to Erestor's bed to see how he was doing.

As he was about to leave, his eyes caught two white daggers on top of the bedside table, just beside the red vase of bluebells. His smiled widened. _She kept picking out the flowers despite my warning_, he thought in amusement. He reached out for the daggers and remembered seeing them before. When he rescued Erynlith in the forest, he saw these daggers strapped behind her back.

"My lord," one of the healers asked.

He turned around swiftly and hid the knives within his jerkin. "Yes?"

"Is there anything else you would like to ask?"

Again, he only shook his head in response. "No, I'll get going now. If Erestor wakes, send him my regards. And to Santien, I'll have a word with her when she gets back." He turned his heels and then left.

As he marched back towards the palace, quite in dismay for not seeing Santien, he twirled one dagger between his long fingers, skillfully as had always been with weapons. The blade gleamed under the sun and suddenly, he smirked to himself. Now that he was free, he could do something to pass the time. He remembered Raithon telling him that Erynlith was in the palace.

_I have to find her_, he thought and went on.

* * *

Erynlith grunted and stretched out even more. She swore she could hear her skin tearing out for reaching too much, but she did not care anymore. Somewhere in the palace, she stood upon a wooden chair, her right arm reaching out of the window. On the other side, there was a tree and a bird nest. When she walked in these corridors earlier, she heard the birds chirping and singing. Quickly, Erynlith searched for a chair. And now, she was trying to touch the birds.

"Just… a little… farther…" she told herself, fingers twitching to pet the birds. It was a surprise they had not flown away yet.

On the other side of the dark and quiet corridor, King Oropher walked. He used this pathway as a shortcut into his throne room. It was a relief for him that it was rarely used. The walls around the corridor were carved with stories and songs, of ballads and of legends. Few round windows were there to provide sunlight in the morning as lamps did during the night. Oropher blinked at the sight of Erynlith, her back turned against him, leaning out the small window. He peered behind her, wondering what it was that she was reaching for, but could not come into conclusion.

And so, he asked her.

"What are you doing?"

Erynlith yelped and slipped her footing from the chair, falling into the floor. Oropher quickly rushed towards her but she stood up before he could get to her. "I'm okay, tra-lay… oh, I rhymed!" she exclaimed happily, dusting her borrowed green dress off. As she lifted her head up, she blinked at the familiar face. "Have we… met before?"

King Oropher chuckled. He knew it would be hard for her to remember him given the state of shock she was in during their first meeting. He was clad now only in his casual brown and red robes, in appreciation for this month's autumn. On his head was a round silver circlet, and in his hand an oakenstaff. He thought he did not look kingly at all.

"We have," he said gently. "But I will not try to keep you from… whatever you were doing before. Are you sure you're alright?"

"A hundred percent, tra-la," Erynlith chirped and the King laughed.

"Well, excuse me. I have thi—"

"Adar!" Thranduil called out and his smile was broad. He was yet to notice that Erynlith was also there. He almost ran to greet his father, but when Oropher gestured over to Erynlith, Thranduil suddenly paused from his tracks, his eyes widening. Did he just call the King his _father_ in front of her? He could slap his forehead right now; Erynlith was still unaware that he was the son of the King, and that his name was actually Thranduil, _not_ 'Lascalen'.

"Um, I…" Thranduil thought for an excuse. "My Lord," he finally said, bowing politely and Oropher quickly joined his game of dramatics. "Please, excuse me for taking Lady Erynlith now. She needs to be admitted back into the infirmary as requested by the healers."

Oropher nodded. "Of course, Lascalen," he said, already knowing what his son would have introduced himself. Thranduil had always loved that name. He smiled at Erynlith and said: "It is nice meeting you today, Lady Erynlith. I will see you around the palace."

Thranduil eyed the Elvenking sharply, and Oropher leaned in to whisper in his ear. "Have fun with your minstrel," the King said, and then winked mischievously. Turning to the female elf, he gave a broad grin. "Lady Erynlith, could you keep my elf guard occupied for a little while? It seems he _loves_ your company."

The Prince gawked at his father.

Erynlith nodded a little, still confused of the happenings. "Um, okay, tra-la…"

With a last wink, Oropher left them be, humming a tune as he walked away.

"What were you doing?" Thranduil demanded sharply when his father was already out of sight. He stomped, almost angrily, towards her. "Do you know who you're dealing with?"

She shook her head honestly. "No, tra-la… Who was he, by the way? He seemed friendly, tra-lo."

"He seemed _friendly_?!" Thranduil repeated. He could not believe this elf! He grabbed her by the elbow, careful to be gentle not to hurt her, and led her out of the once-silent corridor. Erynlith followed him though, a sour expression on her face.

"Why are you even here?" she asked as they reached a much lighter hallway. "Lady Santien told me not to talk to you, tra-la. You are troublesome and a bully. Let go of my arm, tra-lo." But her threat did not seem to worry him, as she spoke queerly in her singsongs.

"Well!" It was his turn to sneer at her. "Excuse _you_! Do you even know who you're talking to?"

She huffed. "I don't know, and I don't care."

Thranduil could swear something right now. He had always regarded himself as a patient elf, no matter what happened. Here he was, arguing with an elf he barely knew, and his patience was once again tested after the years. Still, he remained his composure, glaring at Erynlith instead. Perhaps he should have anticipated some sharpness of tongue; she spent years with Erestor, someone who was quick-witted and sharp enough to even go against Elrond in debates.

"Very unbelievable!" Thranduil said exasperatedly and walked away. A small smile crept up on Erynlith's lips as she followed him; the red string of fate already drawing them closer.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** Thranduil plays a game with Erynlith. Troubles brew.

**Author's Note:** Why, hello to our little flashback. Hoped you guys liked that bit; it was pure narrative and stuff. But hey! We've got another mischief going on here, and King Oropher likes to tease his son when the chance strikes. Thranduil may have inherited his sass there.

Who's looking forward for the next chapter? *raises hand frantically* I am, I am!

***She Elf of Hidden Love** \- Thanks so much for the many reviews! I'm glad you like the story. Hope you stay here with us!

***DeLacus** \- Can't say if you like the Oropher mischief, since it was short, but I tried my best! With an update now, can I have some cheesecake? I'll probably add some more with Amdir and Amroth in the next two chapters. #TeamSindarinElves

***Rousdower** \- Let's always be random! *throws party* Thanks for the review by the way!~

***xummy10** \- I'll try to make their relationship more interesting for you! Thanks for stopping by!

***Guest** \- Thank you! Stay with me, it gets better. LOL

**P.S.** I am trying to work on a new Haldir/OC fic. Yeah, my imagination whirled this morning and now I have a plot in mind. What kind of OC would you like to have this time? We've got the childish, troublemaker Arestel from _A Long-Expected Adventure_, the weird singing Erynlith in this one. Let me know if you have suggestions. Haldir needs more love. #TeamGaladhrim could work... but ok.

**P.P.S.** Reviews are always appreciated. Laters!~


	7. Our Little Games

**Chapter 07**

_**Our Little Games**_

* * *

Thranduil could feel his companion's eyes boring through him as they walked silently side-by side. He ignored her purposely, setting his gaze up ahead. In all honesty, he did not know where he was going, but Erynlith seemed to be satisfied in following him around. He felt an urge to glance at her, and he did, meeting her grey eyes for a split second. He refrained sighing; it would be awkward to do so. Instead, he dipped his hands in his pockets and was surprised by the sudden coldness. He felt for the tip of the blade, suddenly remembering he had taken two daggers from the infirmary earlier. Then, he smirked, pulling one dagger for his eccentric companion to see.

"I have something for you," he said and showed the blades. Erynlith's eyes widened at the sight of those.

Acting on impulse, she reached out to grab it, but Thranduil easily held it up, smirking. Again, she tried, running after the outstretched hand, trying to get hold of her daggers, and the other elf laughed at the sight. She looked like a child being captivated by a toy.

"Give that back!" Erynlith shouted as she jumped.

He withdrew his hand away for her. "No."

Her face flushed in frustration. Still, Erynlith jumped and held Thranduil's arm but to reach the daggers, there was no avail. "Give it back, I said!" she shouted again, getting tired of his antics.

Erynlith supported herself by gripping his shoulder, and then jumped to snatch the daggers. But Thranduil anticipated this, and countered her attempt by swinging his hand out of the way. Luckily, no elves were around to witness such foolish and childlike play. She panted and glared at him, to which he only returned with a mocking grin.

"You are acting like a child!" she exclaimed. "I demand you to give that back!"

"Beg me." Thranduil's voice was deep with mockery.

"Not-on-your-life," Erynlith quickly said. She clutched her long skirt out of the way and charged again, only to be dodged, and she hit her forehead on the wooden railing behind.

"Ow!" she cried, covering her aching forehead. Thranduil stopped and quickly rushed towards her, scanning if her forehead was in any way damaged. The King Oropher would surely be disappointed the way his son treated their guest from Imladris.

Just as Thranduil knelt beside her, Erynlith reached out for the dagger, but it was whisked away again. Looking up at him, she was greeted by another smug look. "Nice try, little one," he smirked, standing up from his kneeling position.

Thranduil left her sitting on the ground, her legs crossed as she glared profusely at him. He held back an upcoming laughter, biting his lower lip as he did so. As in mockery, he showed the dagger and twirled it again between his fingers, ever so skillfully. He heard Erynlith muttering something under her breath as she stood up and fixed her skirt.

"This is most likely yours, isn't it?" he crooned, casually leaning one arm above the wooden railing. "Aren't you going to get this back?"

Erynlith rolled her eyes at him, feeling like a complete idiot for playing his game. She huffed and turned away. Thranduil followed, of course, and he placed the dagger back into his pocket. He knew the little game would be over, and it was fun while it lasted. It was not everyday someone got to play around with the Prince of Greenwood, after all. And she didn't have the slightest idea of who he was.

As they marched on, Thranduil realized that Erynlith was not returning to the infirmary yet. It was still early in the afternoon, too soon for her to report back to Santien. And so, they walked again in awkward silence, with Erynlith trying to ignore the elf behind her. They passed the Elven-guard's outpost, and Thranduil was surprised that some of the guards knew Erynlith. She was greeted by the guards, and was even asked to sing for them again that night.

_So Raithon was telling the truth_, he thought as the guards also acknowledged him. Erynlith turned to him in confusion, wondering why the guards were putting so much respect on this arrogant elf.

_This is worth a tease_, Thranduil thought. "So, you have met the King, haven't you?"

Erynlith did not look at him, but she shrugged. "I don't know. He never visited the infirmary anyway."

He could almost gawk at her absentmindedness. Wasn't she standing face-to-face with the King some twenty minutes earlier? How could she not pick that small detail up? What was wrong with her? Apparently, _everything_ was wrong with her. Thranduil was very much convinced she was deluded.

"Have you ever thought of the King having a son?" he continued, mentally adding 'an extremely flawless son'.

She gave him a useless shrug. "Doesn't matter."

He blinked at her and tried again. "Have you met royalty in your life? Some king or prince perhaps?"

"Believe me," Erynlith sighed. "I know two of them, and they are pesky. One is too territorial and the other too humble. Don't ask."

He was disappointed not to hear her sing her words. "Would it surprise if you if I tell you some of my secrets?" Thranduil simpered and smirked down at her.

Her eyes narrowed. "Like what?"

"That I am a prince."

"Who is?"

"I am."

"Am what?"

"A prince?"

"Who?"

"I am a prince."

She snorted. "Yeah, and I'm the princess of some place. Good for you."

"No, I am serious. Dead serious," Thranduil said.

"Oh, I was being serious, too." Erynlith rolled her eyes again, already tiring out of this little game.

"Serious?" Thranduil crooned mockingly, blocking her way. "Is that how you sound by being serious?" Erynlith finally turned to face him, glaring. But, he continued: "Serious… really? Why am I not hearing anymore of this 'tra-la-la' thing of yours?"

Her face flushed in embarrassment; that was only for Erestor to hear. She bit her lip, feeling helpless at his taunting assault. She was not the one for violent outbursts, but she accounted herself for being sharp-tongued. Her arguments with Erestor were mostly sarcastic and childish, never going too far. And he was patient with her as she was with him. She looked up again at Thranduil; his smile alone was mocking her. She searched for an excuse.

But Thranduil continued again: "What? You are speechless, tra-la-lay." He mocked in a singsong manner.

She fumed at that. Letting go of her frustration, she pushed him out of the way. "Don't talk to me ever again!"

"Tra-la-la?" Thranduil insisted, chuckling as he watched her walk away.

When Erynlith did not look at him, he huffed and turned his heels back into the palace. He clenched his jaw sternly, suddenly feeling the rush of disappointment within him, and he didn't even know why. He expected that Erynlith would snap something sarcastic back, something that would keep the tease and conversation going, but she did not.

As he reentered the palace, his disappointment turned into irritation. He ignored the Silvan elves greeting him, and had almost ignored Raithon.

"Hey!" The Captain tapped his friend's shoulder. He was clad in a green and brown hunter's garb, a bow and quiver strapped behind his back. Thranduil looked at him blankly. "Are you alright? Did something happen?"

Thranduil shook his head back and closed his eyes. "Yeah, um, just a little dazed, I guess. What's up?"

Raithon looked unconvinced. "Well, since you have been with your little lady, the other guards told me she'll be visiting the outpost tonight. Maybe you should come. You missed her last night?"

"Not interested," Thranduil said. "I don't really feel enthusiastic about that. And since when did she become an entertainer? The King wouldn't appreciate if she was treated as such."

"Come on!" Raithon laughed. "She's not the only one. Some of the healers are coming, too. I don't know about Santien though. She basically hates people on a daily basis. It will just be a little feast, like we always do in the spring, remember?"

The blond shrugged.

"You're not really coming?"

"I'll think about it." But Thranduil was less than interested to even go.

"Well, do think about it," Raithon insisted, walking away. He waved a hand at his friend. "I have to patrol the forest before returning to the outpost. Wargs are still lingering near the river, those wicked creatures. See you later!"

Thranduil sighed at the enthusiasm of his friend. Why couldn't he be like Raithon?

It was still afternoon and he felt as if his energy was already drained. He removed his silver brocade and the white daggers in his pocket, his circlet and ring carefully placed aside. Then, he flopped on his bed, feeling sleep all of a sudden. His thoughts returned to what his energetic friend had told him, that Erynlith and the other healers would be spending a little feast in the Elven-guard's outpost. Somehow, it was good to know Erynlith was making friends aside Erestor and Santien. But there was something ticking him off badly.

* * *

Erynlith dropped into her knees and placed the bouquet of bluebells down. She stared intently at the little fox in front of her; she was convinced it was the same fox she "befriended" almost a week ago. She smiled and reached out for its head, and it obliged immediately, scrambling with its little feet towards her. It sniffed her dress and then the bluebells; that small black nose wiggled around for treats. Erynlith patted the head and picked up the bouquet for Erestor.

"I'll see you later, puppy, tra-la-la…" she cooed and returned to the infirmary.

"Where have you been?" Santien asked impatiently. Her arms were crossed and her eyebrow arched snobbishly. "I told you to be back by afternoon."

Erynlith shrugged. "I said I'll be back _later, _tra-lo. Is Erestor awake yet?" She frowned when he was still lying on bed. She turned to Santien again. "Well, now what?"

The auburn-haired healer shook her head. "You can help me with them if you want. You don't have anything to do later this day?"

"Not that I know of, tra-lil-lay" Erynlith sang. She remembered the offer of the guards. Her first time in the outpost was a rather enjoyable one. They were all friendly and full of humor; she preferred their company more than Thranduil's. "The guards said something about a little get-together in the outpost again, tra-la," she said.

"And you're coming?"

"Sure. Why not?"

Santien did not look happy about it. "Suit yourself."

The following night, some of the healers fetched Erynlith from infirmary. They were all ecstatic about having a little feast, and they practically dragged Erynlith out. It was indeed a small feast, few Silvan elves were present. Bread and wine and fruits were served; the minstrels were on one corner. It was a rather quiet event; the guards were too careful to create much noise. Erynlith sat in the crowd of healers, and the Captain of the Guards smiled and sat down beside her.

"Erynlith, yes?" he asked cordially, and then sipped lightly from his wine. He had a comely appearance in contrast with his companions, and his bright smile had always been a bonus to his cheerful demeanor.

She nodded and smiled. "Raithon?"

"You remember!" the captain beamed happily, and she laughed. She liked him better than a certain blond elf. "Are you having a good time? Just tell me, we can spur things up, you know."

"I'll tell you," she said, and felt another need to add 'tra-la-la'. Just remembering that made her miss Erestor.

It went on and went. Elves interacted, made friends, and shared idle talks. It was all good before a series of howling interrupted the singing of the minstrels. Everyone stopped and looked up. The Silvan citizens huddled closer together as the Elven-guard suddenly went into position. They dropped their drinks and grabbed their bows and arrows. Raithon commanded them; his once friendly demeanor was turned into this battle-ready captain. Erynlith watched in awe; he was like Erestor in some way. Welcoming but deadly. Seriously deadly. As the Elven-guard was about to leave the outpost, Raithon's commands were dominated by the sound of panicked horse neighs.

"Arcastar?" Erynlith looked outside. Indeed, it was her black horse that was neighing and sprinting wildly in the forest. How did it get out of the stables? She hurried towards her horse to calm him down, but as Arcastar thrashed around, kicking and rearing nonstop, Erynlith was thrown onto its back. She gasped and clutched on the horse's dark mane as it bolted away from the outpost, the howls of the wargs echoing behind them.

* * *

It was dinner by then. He and his father talked about nothing in particular, only little reports in the palace here and there. Oropher inquired about Thranduil's activities today, which were answered truthfully. Thranduil left out the little game with Erynlith that afternoon, still feeling quite irritated for some reason. But then, Oropher brought the topic up much to son's annoyance.

"You've talked to her?" the King had asked him. "She seems like a nice maid."

Thranduil shrugged lazily. "Sort of."

The King paused, suddenly concerned. Perchance it was no time for fun and games after all. "Did something happen?"

And it was their conversation in a nutshell. Thranduil excused himself after that. He was convinced that he would return to his cold chambers and spend the rest of the night there. As he went closer to his beloved chambers, his skin tingled with the anticipation for a hot bath, Raithon ran up to him with some of the guards.

"Raithon," the blond addressed his friend.

"I have been looking for you!" Raithon said, taking Thranduil by the arm and pulling him with them. The Prince gave his friend an annoyed look. "No time to explain!" the dark-haired elf said; his steps had became faster until he and Thranduil were practically running in the forest. "Your new friend has left Greenwood. To make things worse, she and her horse are followed by Wargs!"

The blood in Thranduil's vein ran cold and he felt his strides getting longer and faster with each passing moment.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** The trouble continues and it drags someone else into the field. Who? Warning: Lots of action scenes!

**Author's Notes:** Yes, I made them play like little children ( ._.) But it looks like Thranduil gets oversensitive when things don't go his way.

***Rousdower** \- Thank you very much for the suggestion! I think I'm starting to picture another OC now. We'll give Mr. Grumpy-Pants-Marchwarden Haldir a weird OC, won't we? Someone who annoys him constantly? *insert evil laugh here*

***DeLacus** \- #LorienDoubleA made me laugh so hard! XDDD I just realized their names _do_ start with A! Their team sounds like a badass action movie! Someone needs to raise awareness of their pair, and so is the #TeamSindarinElves or more like Daddy Oropher and Thranduil, I 'unno. And yes, Raithon! Yay, thanks so much! *eats more cheesecake* Where do this stuff come from? LOL.

***asopo339** \- Thank you very much! I must warn you though, this fic gets darker with each chapter. （°o°；） Hope I didn't scare you. I'm so sorry!

***xSiriuslyPadfoot** \- Long reviews are always welcomed! Thank you for the suggestion too! Cheers!

**P.S.** My friend said the Battle of the Five Armies trailer will come out on Friday. *le gasp* But I'm not sure if it will, just a rumor I guess. If it will come out, take this as an early gift from me! Can't wait to see Thranduil and his elves in armor! *drools*

**P.P.S. **Please review! Reviews are wonderful things to have, like pizza... or chocolates and cookies... But reviews are better! :) Laters!~


	8. Disgusting Trouble

**Chapter 08**

_**Disgusting Trouble**_

* * *

Arcastar was running frantically and its rider fought for balance. It winded through any corner available, the distant howls came closer and closer as they advanced. The cold winds blew, chilling the rider down to her bones, and she wished her cloak was there with her. Again, the howls sounded. In fear, she looked around, eyes in desperate search of the pursuers. Her clutch on the reins became tighter, her knuckles paled. Then, Arcastar jumped over an overgrown root, and Erynlith almost slipped off the saddle.

"Easy!" she said, soothing the horse by its muzzle. It would be hard to get the horse to turn back now. The horse neighed in understanding. For a moment, she praised Erestor for training this horse well.

Arcastar's hooves thundered across the grassy pathways of Greenwood. Suddenly, it stopped, and Erynlith rejoiced. They had reached the forest clearing and the Great River Anduin was up ahead. A smile came across her lips, and she patted the horse's neck in thanks. Now, all she had to do was to find the wooden bridge that connected Greenwood to Lórinand. She narrowed her eyes and looked around. The moonlight was enough to show her the raging waters of the river, but there was no sign of the bridge. Was it possible they had taken the wrong way?

Behind her, the howls sounded and lengthened. Arcastar jolted up in fear, standing on its hind legs and neighed loudly. As it landed on its front legs, two wargs had already come up to them, fangs baring, throats releasing growls. Erynlith gulped and sat frozen upon the horse's back, and the wargs slowly approached them, careful and predatory. Sensing its rider's passiveness, Arcastar neighed again and sprinted pass through the wargs, and back into the forest. The branch that hit her face snapped her back to reality, and it was when Erynlith realized that the previous two wargs were now joined by three more.

"Faster, Arcastar!" she cried. She looked back and a warg almost pounced on her if not for the protruding tree branch. "Faster!"

* * *

The marchwardens of Lórinand were roused. From their outpost, they could hear wild neighs and angry howls coming beyond the river. Some of the wardens, who were on patrol, reported that they had seen glimpse of a black horse and a lady confronted by wargs. And it was not all; the whole pack which temporarily stayed near the Gladden Fields. This pack had been there for a while, and the Elven-guard of Greenwood was yet to exterminate them.

"Do you not think we should see into it?" a warden said, his eyes searching around for the grey horse.

"Whatever it is, Greenwood's guards could handle it," said the other and went back to his work.

Whispers in the outpost reached the heart of the forest, and soon the Prince.

"Someone is in Greenwood this late at night?" Amroth asked incredulously, ascending the outpost of the marchwardens. His gaze was focused on the river up ahead and beyond it. His hearing could pick up faint growls and struggles. Quickly, he grabbed a bow and said, "Come. Let us hunt ourselves some wargs." Then, he smiled to encourage his companions. "A little sport at night shouldn't hurt."

* * *

Erynlith bit her lip in panic. She could almost taste the copper of her blood. Arcastar was getting exhausted; the wargs were leading them around in circles, such was the way of predators: tiring their prey before taking them out. Even for an Elven-horse, the chase was too tiring and engaging. Erynlith had not fought back. There was nothing on except for the saddle. Arcastar neighed eagerly again, and then reared. A brown-furred warg with yellow eyes pounced in front of the horse. Arcastar backed away instantly, only to be blocked by the oncoming wargs. In other words, they were cornered; some six or more wargs were already stalking their prey. The one in the front plunged in, claws first.

Erynlith swiftly slipped back from the saddle, took a broken tree branch, and attacked the warg with it. The warg was thrown aside by the impact.

Her face brightened. "Did you see that?" she asked enthusiastically to Arcastar. Oh, Erestor would have been _proud_ of her. But there was no answer, only threatening growls from the warg's companions. Following her previous suit, Erynlith swung the heavy branch, taking out another warg. She felt more confident, but the horse beside her, disagreed.

Arcastar was caught by a warg which pounced onto its rear. The warg sunk its fangs onto the meaty flesh, and the horse cried in agony. It reared once more and sprinted off into the forest, followed by two wargs. Erynltih watched in horror as she was left behind with three more wargs to deal with. Her grip on the branch loosened; she suddenly felt discouraged. Where was the Elven-guard when you needed them?

_I am getting punished_, she thought gravely. _I promise not to annoy Erestor anymore_, she prayed.

But her prayer was not answered. One warg pounced toward her again, a silver one with brown streaks on its fur. Droplets of saliva dripped down from its hungry mouth, bloodshot eyes darkening in anticipation. Another two came up behind the first one, cornering her between the thick trunks of oak trees. Erynlith helplessly clutched the branch in her hand.

The first warg sprinted towards her. Erynltih dived onto the ground; her face hitting the earth. Then, she desperately scrambled back onto her feet and ran past through the other two wargs. Her attackers growled and ran after her. She looked back for a fraction of second and saw the wargs already catching up to her. One came up behind her and closed in. She swung the branch and knocked the warg's head with it. The warg winced and drew back as the branch vibrated in her touch.

"I think I'm getting the hang of this," Erynlith panted.

Suddenly, the chase between her and the wargs are interrupted. From the direction she was heading, a couple of arrows rained down, aiming behind her. In her surprise she abruptly looked behind; the wargs cried in pain as they fell on the ground. Turning around again, a second group arrived, gliding through the trees, skillfully and rapidly. Next, a loud neigh greeted her. It was Arcastar! Erynlith sighed in relief and ran to meet her dark friend, but realized that Arcastar was still followed by the two wargs from before.

The elves above the trees drew out their bows and fired. Arcastar was luckily missed from the assault and all wargs fell dead. The horse automatically went to Erynlith and rubbed its muzzle against her shoulder. She smiled and patted the muzzle gently.

The next thing that happened was not so gentle anymore. She was grabbed by the waist, a strong arm coiling around her all of a sudden. She fought to protest, the face of her assailant still unseen. Then, she realized that she was pushed back to join a group of the Woodland guard. A familiar face smiled at her, and Erynlith studied his face carefully as the Elven-guard circled around her. The dark-haired Captain of the Guards smiled warmly and waved a hand at her.

"Are you alright, my lady?" Raithon asked.

She could only nod. The overwhelming fear and relief still coursed through her veins. Her eyes searched for the one who grabbed her; his back turned against her. In his right hand he held a wooden recurve bow; on the other was a slender sword. She looked ahead; an unfamiliar group of elves were also present. She tried to see who they were, but the Greenwood guards were starting to take her away from the scene.

Thranduil confronted the newly-arrived Elves. Their fair hair and bright eyes were easy to place. These were the Nandor of Lórinand, of King Amdír's people. The Silvan of Greenwood had great relationship with them, and there was great alliance between the two forests. At the sight of these elves, Thranduil's anger toned down; his chest was not heaving anymore, and his grip on his bow and sword loosened.

"Prince Amroth," he acknowledged cordially. The said elf prince turned to him and Thranduil held out his palm in greeting. _"Mae govannen, mellonin nin. Gwannas lû and."_

Amroth smiled and shook his hand. _"'Quel undome, Tharanduil,"_ he said. _"Lle ume quel."_

"Please," said Thranduil, slightly laughing. "I am delighted to see you again. What prompted you to cross the Great River?"

"We heard the wargs," said the other prince. "We thought we should help one of our Silvan kindred."

Thranduil glanced back to Erynlith, who was still attended by Raithon and his guards, and then turned again to Amroth. "Well, I am indebted with your help. It would make me feel better if you and your companions come with us back to the palace. The King will receive you well."

"Of course," Amroth agreed without hesitation. "I will feel honored to be in the King's halls again."

"Come with us, then," said Thranduil and turned to walk away. "But first, please excuse me; I have to attend to my friend."

The Greenwood Prince nodded a little, and went back to his group of Silvan elves. The Elven-guard gathered around him, whispered incoherent Silvan dialect, and Thranduil answered them in the same language. Amroth's grey eyes followed Thranduil's trail, slightly shifting his head to have a better view of the maiden they had just saved. But she was huddled closely to the guards, between the leader and the elf prince. Her dark hair shrouded her face, and the moonlight was not enough light.

Amroth felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. Turning about, his lieutenant marchwarden stepped forward and whispered: "What shall we do now, my lord?"

The elf prince in question also leaned close; his voice came in a careful whisper. "We will be admitted into King Oropher's palace. Send a messenger for King Amdír; tell him to follow us there. My intuition is tingling."

The marchwarden nodded and stealthily ran back towards the forest clearing, followed by few other wardens. Amroth turned again to see Thranduil and his guards, but to his surprise, he was kneeling in front of the maiden.

Thranduil passed through his guards and knelt quietly beside Erynlith. She snuggled under the dark cloak Raithon had offered her earlier, and on her hand was a brown waterskin. She looked up when he came, and there was neither glare nor smirk that was present. Thranduil's icy gaze pierced her, and she instantly looked down. How could she face him now?

"Disgusting trouble," Thranduil muttered angrily under his breath.

It was then that she realized that he was already kneeling in front, his eyes gazing directly into hers. Erynlith looked away. "Hey," she whispered rather weakly.

"You alright? Are you hurt anywhere?" he said, scanning her face. His sour mood suddenly turned worried.

She shook her head. "I'm good. Just a bit tired, I guess. How did you find us?"

Thranduil smiled. "I have my ways. Besides, you did not leave very stealthily either. What do you expect?" He did not expect to see her smile; even it was a just little smile. He would have returned the gesture if not for the reddening scratches on her left cheek. His eyes narrowed and his hands immediately reached out for it. "What happened here?" he asked, shifting her cheek a little so he could have a better view. But he did not give her time to answer. "Stay here," he ordered sternly and stood up.

Erynlith waited. She had no idea what Thranduil had in his mind, and she could care less. He returned shortly, another waterskin on hand. He knelt again and pulled out a white handkerchief from his pocket, and drenched the cloth in water. Without words, Thranduil pressed the cloth against her cheek and she flinched at the coldness.

"Let me," Erynlith said, trying to take the cloth from him. She winced when the cold cloth touched her cheek.

Thranduil pulled it out of her reach and said, "No."

She groaned and rolled her eyes. Thranduil smiled; there it was! The Thranduil she knew, was it Lascalen? "Really, now…" she said exasperatedly, her hand still reaching out for the wet handkerchief. "Give that to me. I can manage on my own."

"I don't think so," he countered. He was somehow disappointment not to hear her sing. "You can't even save yourself from few wargs, tra-la-la."

Her eyebrow twitched. "I could have handled them perfectly," she snorted. "Give me that and leave me alone!"

"Does it hurt?" Thranduil asked in a concerned voice, but she did not answer. Just then, he pressed the cold cloth against her scratched cheek, too rigid for Erynlith's liking. She yelped at the sudden contact and slight pain. "Does it _hurt_?" Thranduil asked again, his voice now laced with sarcasm.

"It did _not_ until you started acting like a jerk again!" Erynlith shouted and slapped his probing hand away.

"Alright, forgive me." Thranduil's demeanor then turned silent and somewhat serious. His hand continued to soothe her cheek, now gentle and with care, and Erynlith finally relaxed into it. "I can't believe you," Thranduil whispered nonchalantly. "You always argue with me and then all of sudden, I rescue you from trouble. Very unbelievable."

Erynlith sighed in relief; the stinging sensation on her cheek had already faded. Then, she smiled as thank for his so-called rescue. "Thank you for coming. I'm very grateful, tra-la-lay."

Thranduil smiled warmly. It had been a while since he heard that. His irritation finally dissipated and he could do this for the rest of the night. He already felt that she was warming up to him, and it was good enough for him.

Soon after, Raithon called back the Elven-guard. The Silvan elves marched back neatly in two lines, with Thranduil and Erynlith walking between them. The host of Lórinand, led by Prince Amroth, marched behind the Silvan elves. Amroth's eyes were still on the maiden whose face he still did not see. It seemed that Thranduil did not even give him a chance to introduce himself to her. Thranduil's arms were behind her back, guiding her carefully as if she would suddenly collapse. His back and pale golden hair obscured most of the maiden, and Amroth could only see her arms. When Erynlith tried looking back, Thranduil would quickly turn her look ahead on the road or on _him_.

"Who is it?" she asked, trying hard to see who it was, but Thranduil would still block her view.

He shrugged. "No one, really. You'll meet him once you feel better."

"I _do_ feel better," she countered. Again, she looked behind her, only to be pulled away by the wrist. She groaned. "What is your problem?"

"Nothing!" he said in his defense. "You know what? Let's just return to the palace. It's way past your bedtime."

Then, Erynlith remembered something important. She bit her lip and tugged on Thranduil's tunic sleeve, prompting him to look down at her once again. She looked worried about something. "Lascalen," she whispered, and his ears perked up almost in a cat-like manner upon hearing that name. She had never called him by that, even when Lascalen was just a phony name he invented before. It felt different to be called by someone else's name.

"Yes?" he asked thoughtfully.

She gripped his sleeve tighter; Thranduil could swear he could hear ripping noises. She bit her lip even more. She tiptoed to whisper in his ear and he leaned down closer. "Please, don't tell Erestor."

He chuckled but nodded. He leaned closer to whisper back. "Sure thing. But the name is _Thranduil_, tra-la-lay."

* * *

*_"Mae govannen, mellonin nin. Gwannas lû and."_ (Well met, my friend. It has been too long.)

*_"'Quel undome, Tharanduil. __Lle ume quel."_ (Good evening, Thranduil. You did well.)

**Next Chapter:** The spotlight goes to Prince Amroth!

**Author's Notes:** Yeah, I couldn't stop myself from creating another battle scene. I just _can't_ stop doing them! I'm sorry! (-_-;) But yay for some action elves, and the Amroth and Thranduil confrontation, I guess?

***dreams-in-the-dirt** \- Welcome and enjoy the story! Thank you very much for the review!

***xSiriuslyPadfoot** \- Yep, the Haldir/OC story still needs to be "polished" before I write it down. But thanks for the support and the review! I hope you liked the chapter! :)

***DeLacus** \- Thanks! Erestor was always portrayed as the "scholar" type so I wanted to see him in action, more like Glorfindel! And about #LorienDoubleA, I can already picture Amroth and Amdir in black tuxedos and shades, and Daddy Oropher swings in his desk chair like a boss! XDDD The next three or more chapters will heavily feature them, so hurray for their team!

And the cheesecakes!

***Rousdower** \- Everyone is in hot water! This chapter cools the water down a bit, no? And I meant that to be the Battle of Five Armies trailer. LOL, my bad. Hopefully, we'll get it this week. Thanks for the review!

**P.S.** Reviews are always welcomed! I love reading reviews! You can tell me your expectations in the story, some advice or opinions, and we can get it done! Thank you for reading and have a wonderful day ahead! Adios!


	9. The Woodland Princes

**Chapter 09**

_**The Woodland Princes**_

* * *

_Oh, this is taking forever…_

Amroth prided himself for being patient; everyone in Lórinand thought so too. As a Prince, he was always accustomed to formalities and celebrations. But during the rare occasions that he was in Greenwood, the King Oropher was always enthusiastic about it. He wondered if the King actually liked visitors. Amdír and Oropher had been friends for as long as both kings could remember, thus, making their sons quite the friends as well. Ever since his arrival last night, Oropher proposed a feast for him. When Raithon and Thranduil reported about the incident, Oropher nodded but did not see if anyone was hurt.

He sighed and shifted from his seat by the window. Propping his chin beneath his palm, he looked out the window; the late autumn morning gave the Greenwood a brown and orange hue. It was a really good sight to behold, especially from his spot above the palace, and he smiled. The room offered to him befitted his position as prince, but he was restless and wanted someone else's company. Just after breakfast, he tried coaxing Thranduil about introducing him to the "dark lady" he saved last night. Much to Amroth's disappointment, Thranduil had shrugged him off but still promised to introduce him when "she felt better".

"Might as well go wandering around," Amroth told himself and got up. He slipped his silver jerkin and took his bow. "Thranduil shouldn't mind," he added and then left his quiet room.

* * *

Santien grumbled audibly. She was a healer, and her task was to stay in the infirmary. But no; Thranduil had to call her in the middle of the night and asked her if she could attend to Erynlith instead of the seriously injured Caladhir and Erestor. She declined his offer, no doubt, but due to Thranduil's constant pleads and some blackmails, Santien yielded and went to the room where Erynlith was temporarily confined. It was a small and cozy room, with curtains of green and lamps of gold.

"Good morning, tra-lay," Erynlith sang as the healer entered, her dark green skirts swirling at her swift movements. The auburn hair was braided in one thick plait that was over Santien's shoulder, and on her right ear was a bluebell from Raithon. She was followed by another healer, a dark-haired Silvan who politely nodded to Erynlith.

"You are _so_ bad at not hurting yourself, aren't you?" Santien said coldly and began sorting out her things. She was asked by Thranduil to treat the scratches on Erynlith's cheek from last night's incident, despite being only a minor wound.

Erynlith sighed in defeat. "Had to be done, tra-lo. You shouldn't have come. The scratches are healing anyway…" She ran a finger through her right cheek and tapped it. "See?"

"I'm only doing what I am asked," Santien said. She tossed a cloth drenched in herbal oil to Erynlith. "Besides, have you heard of the new visitor?"

The younger elf's face brightened. "Finally! Someone who makes sense! Tell me about him!" She clapped her hands cheerfully.

Santien's eyebrow rose. "I don't know much about him, really. All I know that he's always a guest of King Oropher. He lives in Lórinand."

"Oh," Erynlith muttered, pressing the warm cloth on her cheek. After a while, she handed the cloth back to Santien. "I'll go out now, okay? Call for me when Erestor wakes, and don't tell him about what happened, tra-la-la…"

"No, I can't let you—" But Erynlith was already out of her room. Santien sighed exasperatedly while her fellow healer only giggled softly.

* * *

Amroth's fingers tapped the table impatiently. His chin was propped under his palm again; he leaned back against the chair and on his other free hand, a cup of wine was thrust there by the King. He eyed the swirling liquor in his cup; it reflected his face in a crimson hue. He was never fond of wines, unlike the certain Elvenking and his subjects. Surely, wine was a delicate drink, usually soothing and relaxing. And he had tasted many wines in his lifetime; Lórinand had their own vineyard for winemaking. But it was still morning and the red liquor was already in his hand, waiting to be consumed.

He was supposed to be wandering the forest by now, had not the King's butler spotted him leaving the palace. The butler called him and offered him to join the King for his leisure time in the porch. And being the polite elf that he was, Amroth smiled and took the offer.

His grey eyes darted from his drink to the King. Oropher's silver hair was adorned with a crown of berries and leaves; on his fingers were gem-studded rings. A luxurious brooch was clasped about his neck. Beside the King and across the table was Thranduil, clad in silver robe and dark trousers. A silver circlet was upon his pale golden hair. It was almost hard to believe that this father and son were Sindar, for Sindarin elves usually had dark hair. Perhaps their family was an exception, along with Amroth's family, since he and his father Amdír shared Thranduil's golden hair.

"So, Prince Amroth," Oropher's voice snapped him back. Instantly, the Prince of Lórinand composed himself, not wanting to disgrace his name in front of other royalties. "I am grateful for your coming here. It has been a while since you graced Greenwood with your presence. But it is quiet disheartening that you visited in such terrible circumstances. I assume you are not, by any means, hurt? King Amdír will not appreciate if you are."

Amroth smiled politely and shook his head. "I am perfectly fine, King Oropher. My concern is the lady last night. Is she well?" He noticed how Thranduil's eyes narrowed at the mention of the lady.

"She will be fine," Thranduil sharply answered, sipping from his cup. "I have assigned an attendant to look after her. By lunchtime, if she feels like it, she may join us for lunch. How long do you intend to stay in Greenwood?"

"As long as I can get to meet her," said Amroth, looking for another reaction from Thranduil. As expected, the other prince looked grim.

"We will send someone to fetch her," King Oropher said. "I am quite worried about her as well."

Everything went on smoothly. After lunch, the three continued to the King's throne room. Amroth was beginning to wonder why he was even there in the first place. He could be at Lórinand by now, relaxing and spending time with his people. He sensed Thranduil's impatience; the Woodland Prince scanned the throne room, his eyes waiting for someone. And Amroth could tell who he was looking for.

Faint footsteps interrupted the silence between them. Amroth and Thranduil turned around, their eyes catching glimpse of the lady in her thin satin dress, her umber hair braided carelessly on the side. She was running toward the throne room. As quickly as Erynlith arrived, she blinked at the King and did not notice the presence of the two other elf princes. Someone had told her the Elvenking was to be found here. She felt rather silly for meeting the King _yesterday_ but was not able to recognize him at all. How shameful.

"My lord, I—" Her voice trailed off, meeting Amroth's eyes, and then Thranduil's. She smiled instantly, the brightest smile Thranduil could have seen from her, and she began to ascend the dais of the throne.

Thranduil stepped forward expectantly, his arms ready to receive her, rather embrace her, but he was stopped in his tracks when Amroth ran past him and embraced Erynlith _instead_. His eyes widened in surprise, confusion written all over his fair face as he watched his friend spun Erynlith around, both laughing. When she was set back on the ground, Amroth embraced her _again_. Why was Amroth embracing her? Why was Erynlith so happy to see him? Do they know each other? And why was Amroth's arm around Erynlith's waist? Thranduil glared and looked back at his father; Oropher only replied a useless shrug of his shoulders.

"King Oropher," Amroth called their attentions back, holding Erynlith firmly by the waist. "You should have told me sooner that your lady is Erynlith of Rivendell. It would make things better had I known sooner." He looked at Thranduil. "And I suppose Prince Thranduil should have told me as well."

Erynlith blinked and tugged Amroth's sleeve. "Prince?"

His little game was totally over. Thranduil suppressed an incoming sigh of exasperation. But his eyes still glinted with mischief as Erynlith's face was full with questions; her eyes searching an answer from Amroth. Amroth nodded, unsure of what to say, and was confused himself. Then, Erynlith turned to Thranduil, and he gave her his infamous smirk. He walked over to her and bowed politely, stretching a hand in greeting.

"Yes, my lady," he said, his voice smooth and deep. "I am afraid here ends our little game. I am the Prince of Greenwood the Great, Thranduil, son of Oropher; and not Lascalen, the elf guard, but whatever name you prefer is accepted, my lady." He mentally added a 'tra-la-la' in his mind. He forcefully took her hand into his and kissed the back of it. The look on his face was devious.

Erynlith blanched. _Prince of Greenwood? Thranduil?_ _So this arrogant and demanding elf was the King's son?_ No wonder they looked and talked the same. She could feel herself weakening by that very fact alone, suddenly overwhelmed that she was in the presence of _three_ Elven royalties: one king and two princes. And who was she? A traveler with two injured companions, with still an injured and bandaged right wrist, hair not-so-carefully combed for this glorious moment, and there she stood gaping at the grinning Thranduil. Her life was going smoothly.

As Thranduil straightened himself, he continued: "Now, then. Shall all the games be ended here? Why don't you tell me yours, little one?"

Her eyebrow twitched. No one called her that except Erestor. She glared, not caring if the King could see, and pulled Amroth down by the shoulders and whispered something in his ear. At length, the golden-haired Prince of Lórinand chuckled and nodded.

"There is nothing else I could tell you, _Prince_," Erynlith said, purposely leaving out her usual 'tra-la'. "You knew my secrets before I could even know them myself."

"Ah, that is a shame then," said Thranduil and looked at his father. "Shall we proceed to the hospitalities once more?"

Hearing that, Amroth winced and whispered down to her. "Let's go," he said, keeping an eye out on the father and son. "There is much that you could tell me, Eryn."

Erynlith laughed a little, and Thranduil's ears perked at hearing it. He looked back at them again; Amroth's arm was _still_ around Erynlith's waist, almost possessively. But she did not seem to mind though; rather, she was enjoying it. "My Lord Oropher," Thranduil heard Amroth say; "May I borrow Lady Erynlith for the time being? We have much to talk to."

The silver-haired Elvenking easily nodded his head; his blue eyes glinted as he watched Thranduil's reaction. "Go on ahead, Prince Amroth," Oropher said cordially. "You can take your time as long as you want."

And so, Amroth and Erynltih excused themselves with a little bow. Amroth nodded at Thranduil and pulled Erynlith by the hand, as if excited of leaving the throne room. Thranduil eyed them, glaring, as they disappeared behind the large wooden doors. Again, he gave his father an inquiring look. The King stepped down from his chair and gave his son a mischievous smirk. Thranduil furrowed his eyebrows; he had never felt so clueless in his life.

* * *

"You sly little…" Erynlith said, embracing Amroth once more. They laughed together and Amroth set her back onto her feet. "What are you doing here? And do you know that we're here?" There were so many questions she would like to ask him.

Amroth laughed. "My intuition was tingling last night. I thought it was you. To think that you've come as far as Greenwood… tell me, is Elrond up to something again?"

She shook her head. "Yeah, something like that…"

"But what did you mean by _we_?" He took her hand and led them out of the palace, now walking under the glades of the trees. He glanced down at her, noticing her reluctant response at the question. She looked pale and uncomfortable all of a sudden, and Amroth did not like that.

"Well, let's just say something occurred a few weeks ago, tra-lo, and we had to stay in Greenwood for a while, tra-la," she sang. When Amroth did not look convinced, she sighed and continued: "Erestor and I were supposed to deliver a message in Gondor, for the King. But in the High Pass we were waylaid and my companions are hurt really badly, tra-la-lay…"

Amroth stopped walking, ignoring the singsong, and turned to look at her. "Waylaid in the mountains? So that is why wargs are lingering in the forest? You were followed by wargs? And then what happened? Seriously, Erynlith, you can't just—"

"Alright, I get it!" She flailed her arms and laughed. "I am just so bad at these kinds of things, okay? Just don't tell Erestor what happened last night, please?"

"Why not?" But Amroth already knew why. Whenever he remembered why Erynlith chose to stay with Erestor rather than coming with King Amdír to Lórinand, jealousy welled-up within him. It was not the romantic kind of jealousy, more like a familial jealousy, he always told himself. He had expected for Erynlith to choose family members, but in this case, she turned to Erestor more as if they were related by blood. And it disappointed him always that she preferred being with him than being with anyone else.

She smiled weakly. "He's in a lot of physical pain right now. I don't want to add myself in his worry-list. You know how he is… always overacting on things that shouldn't be, tra-la-lay."

Amroth nodded and wrapped and arm around her shoulders, walking off again. "I won't tell him," he assured her. "But you should have told me sooner that you are here. How long will you stay here? I suggest you visit us in Lórinand. The King might be ticked off by now." They laughed. "He would want to have you there…"

"I am not sure," Erynlith said in a low voice, not wanting to disappoint him anymore. "I mean, of course, I would love to visit Lórinand but I am worried about Erestor's leg injury. It has been a week and he still cannot walk. He says he cannot feel his legs at all, tra-lo. I don't want to leave him here and I know he will not heal very soon, tra-la-la."

He nodded in understanding. "Was it a really bad injury? If you'll allow it, you and Erestor can travel back with me. We have the best healers in Lórinand that can attend to him day-in and day-out. You don't have to worry about wargs and all that. We have marchwardens guarding our borders. And everyone would welcome you."

"Yeah," Erynlith snorted. "Everyone, except your little goody two-shoes… what's her name again?"

"Nimrodel," Amroth answered sternly. "Her name is Nimrodel."

"Ah," said the minstrel, not amused in one bit. "Well, whatever her name is, she's still too conservative, and haughty, and…"

"Eryn!" The elf prince snapped angrily. "Remember who you are talking to! Nimrodel is _not_ haughty! For starters, she is kind and loving, and beautiful, very helpful and… and…"

"Haughty?"

"No!" Amroth was now glaring at her. It was rare for him to lose his regal composure, but it was always easy to do so. Mentioning his beloved Nimrodel was either a good thing or a bad thing; good if Nimrodel was complimented, and bad if otherwise. And at this moment, it was the latter. He continued glaring at Erynlith, trying to pierce his steely eyes on her insensitive self. Yet Erynlith only shrugged his glare off.

"Fine, tra-lil-lay." She sighed and rolled her eyes. "We both know she dislikes me for one reason or another, but let's pretend she doesn't, for your sake."

Finally, Amroth looked relieved. "Just… don't speak ill of her, okay?"

She nodded, but then, added: "But we also can't deny that she is haughty, okay?"

Amroth groaned in defeat.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** King Amdir arrives with his sass. #LorienDoubleA

**Author's Notes:** Yeah, we have little of Thranduil/Erynlith moment in this chap, but they did have the spotlight for like... few paragraphs? Yeah. I wanted another character relationship build-up and stuff. I'll be working on more of their scenes in the next few chapters. Cheers!

***Lingua Pura** \- Oh, thank you very much! I'll do my best with Erynlith's characterization!

***Rousdower** \- What, do you still feel hot? Lemme help. *throws ice cubes* Did it work, did it work? We have lots of ice cubes at home. LOL. I'd like to try your yogurt. Mmm, sounds yummy! Always thanks for the review!~

***DeLacus** \- Since you reviewed in the _Long Expected Adventure_ and here, LOL, I'll answer your question. Yes, the Erynlith I mentioned in the other story is the very Erynlith we have here. I am trying to connect all my stories, you see? One story about Legolas, this one with Thranduil &amp; Glorfindel, and hopefully, the Haldir/OC fic will join the universe! Thank you so much for always reviewing!

**P.S.** Will I be cursed if I said that I have another idea for a new Elrohir/OC fic? My imagination whirled again, and the plot and characters are set. All I need is all the time in the world to get those stories done very, very soon. Ugh. Sometimes I hate how my brain goes: "Hey, I have a new thing for you." *insert evil laugh here*

**P.P.S.** Please review and tell me what you think! They are always treasured!~


	10. The King's Plans

**Chapter 10**

_**The King's Plans**_

* * *

Thranduil was bored out of his mind. It had been three days since Amroth's arrival, three days of princely duties… three days of not seeing her. Well, he did see her every once in a while: breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It would be a miracle if they passed each other in the corridor. But Amroth was always there with her, and Thranduil could not make his move to even bother her. And it bothered _him_.

His father never elaborated Amroth and Erynlith's relationship to him: on how could they hold hands in public but still act like siblings. He often wondered how those two could go on for days without running out of things to discuss. Whenever he saw them, they were always talking to each other.

For the past three days, Thranduil was forced to face the reality of his duties as Prince of Greenwood. He went back to his usual routine, all the reports, meetings, and inspections to make sure everything in the kingdom went well. And it _bored_ the living daylights out of him. When things had finally become interesting, with Erynlith's unexpected arrival and all, he thought of changing something in his routine. Surely, an eccentric traveler winding up in your forest did not happen every day.

He sighed for the umpteenth time, finally hating his work at present. He was curled up in his favorite place, blue eyes lazily staring on the piece of _junk_ he was trying to finish. He felt his eyelids become heavier by the second, and his chin would occasionally slip from his palm. However, his right hand continued drawing random lines on the paper which would eventually turn into a piece of _art_.

He did not notice one librarian sneaking up on him, if she _was_ sneaking, that was. He was too absorbed on his boring work that he really did not notice. When her voice sounded, an inquiring soft voice which tried to snap him out of his incoming reverie, Thranduil suddenly jerked up.

"Yes?"

"The Elvenking asks for you, my lord prince. A visitor from Lórinand has arrived."

Thranduil felt the need to yawn and scratch his eyes. _More visitors_, he thought miserably. "From Lórinand? Who?"

The librarian smiled. "The King, who else?"

At that, Thranduil jumped onto his feet and immediately rushed out of the library, folding his unfinished work and tucking it inside his pocket. They had a visitor and no one told him until the King had already arrived? As he paced down the corridors, he combed his fingers through his long golden hair, carefully readjusting the circlet on his head. He panted softly and tried to relax himself; he could not show himself to the King of Lórinand looking all haggard and sleepy. Then, he yawned unceremoniously, grateful that none of the Silvan folk were there to see him.

As he reached the appointed place, his father's throne room, he fixed the hem of his dark blue brocade and swung the large double doors open. Eyes were instantly darted on him as he strode slowly inside. There was a large entourage gathered there, no doubt from the King's people. Their dark hair was easy to place; these were the Nandor of Lórinand, of King Amdír's folk. His own eyes searched for his father, and he quickly saw him standing within a flock of friends. Oropher's silver hair stood out from the whole room, aside from the golden hair that belonged to King Amdír and his son Amroth.

"Ah, Prince Thranduil!" Amroth enthusiastically announced his arrival and went away from the group to greet his friend. Thranduil smiled and shook Amroth's hand. "You are almost late," the other prince said and laughed.

Upon hearing the arrival of Thranduil, the group of elves turned to him and Oropher approached his son. He introduced Thranduil to those Nandor who were new in Greenwood, and even presented his son with pride and dignity. "He is an excellent bowman and swordsman. He trained most of our guards here," King Oropher continued as the Nandor looked impressed and maidens shared idle giggles.

Thranduil prided himself in that. As the conversation went on, with his father's arm around his shoulder, his eyes began to wander off again. And then, he saw her. Not far away from the group, Erynlith and Amroth stood together, a wine cup on their hands. The elf prince took a sip from his cup every once in a while, but Erynlith did not, seemingly satisfied by just holding the cup. In front of them, the King of Lórinand stood, regal and fair in his white and golden robes. His attention was solely focused on the two younger elves with him, and together they laughed as if they were the closest elves in the world.

"Adar," Thranduil whispered aside to his father's ear. "May I leave for a moment?"

Oropher looked at his son and tapped his shoulder. "Very well, then. Enjoy the festivities. I'll see you later." The Greenwood King went off with some of his councilors, among them a pretty Silvan maid with dark hair and bright blue eyes. Thranduil regarded her for a moment, not remembering her name, until he scoffed and strode away.

He slowly made his way towards the King of Lórinand. He was not sure of himself, how he would present himself to a King so high from him, and with Erynlith around, he was not just sure. Before he knew it, he was standing beside their group. The laughter ceased and was replaced by a curious look from the golden-haired King.

"Thranduil?" Erynlith's voice awakened him from his trance. He looked up, meeting her grey eyes with his blue ones, and surely, he smirked at her.

He turned back to the King and bowed again. "Welcome back to Greenwood, King Amdír," he said politely, his smirk never fading.

The King nodded thoughtfully. He had the same grey eyes as Amroth and Erynlith, though Thranduil thought the King's eyes were cooler and more intimidating. "Yes, it is good to be back, Prince Thranduil. I give you my earnest thanks for watching over my Erynlith for more than a week. I have heard from Amroth about what happened earlier in the High Pass. I expect that my niece and her friends are being treated well?"

_Ah, there it is_, Thranduil thought. _The King's straightforwardness_. It was always hard to be honest with the King of Lórinand, especially when he was very persistent about the matter. He spared a glance at their subject, she who stood beside her cousin and tilted her head curiously. "They are, my lord," he answered truthfully. "Our healers are doing the best they can, and Lord Erestor is healing rapidly."

Amroth felt the grip on his hand become tighter. He had just realized that Erynlith was holding him. He knew she did not want King Amdír to take Erestor away, not now when he was not fully-healed yet. It was too soon for Erestor to move from his bed, but Amroth and Erynlith knew King Amdír would demand otherwise.

"I will discuss that matter to King Oropher," Amdír said and sipped from his cup. He emptied it in a few gulps and handed it to the Silvan butler. Quietly, he excused himself and approached Oropher who was still accompanied by the Nandor.

Amroth whistled. "Well, what now?"

"I should talk to Erestor," Erynlith announced, shoving her wine cup over to him, and dashed away. Curious as ever, Thranduil ran after her, leaving Prince Amroth chuckling and sipping from his cousin's untouched wine.

* * *

When Erynlith arrived at the infirmary, Erestor smiled at her warmly and patted a space on his bed where she could sit. Smiling back, she complied and noticed the new set of bluebells on the red vase. She looked at it curiously, not remembering if she had gone to the meadow to fetch him those. These bluebells were fresh from being picked. As she looked back to Erestor, he played one flower between his fingers, twiddling it like a child.

"Where have you been?" he asked gently and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. "You visited me so late today. Someone else went off to fetch me the flowers."

"Really? Who?"

Erestor shrugged. "I do not know. Must be one of the healers, no doubt. I have not seen Lady Santien since this morning, and Caladhir always takes his time, sleeping." He laughed softly. "I heard horns a while ago. Who arrived in the forest? He should be someone of importance."

"Importance…" Erynlith drawled awkwardly. Erestor tilted his head to the side and blinked. "Ah, that must be King Amdír that you're talking about," she admitted. "Amroth arrived some three days ago… and I didn't tell you."

His eyebrows furrowed. "What, for _three_ days? And what is the King doing here? Does he know that I am here as well?"

"That's the point," she protested. "I think he wants us to return to Lórinand with him. He really wouldn't go all this way for festivities, you know. And he sounds quite demanding today."

Erestor shook his head. "Things are complicated when King Amdír is involved. Surely he will force us to return with him. I am fine with it, though. I am more familiar with the elves there than here in Greenwood. And Lord Elrond has better communication in Lórinand."

She looked unsure. "Do you really want to go? What about your thigh? You said you still cannot feel your legs. If we move you now, and Lórinand is not exactly near here, it might hurt again, and we wouldn't want that."

"Believe me, little one," Erestor smiled at her reassuringly. "There is no better place than I want to be except for Lórinand. The marchwardens would be delighted to see you."

"I don't think they will be," she grumbled, and Erestor laughed again.

"Now, now, little one," he crooned, patting her head as if she was a cat. "Do not be like that. King Amdír only wishes you to spend time with them. _Aduial en Meleth_ will soon be upon us. I am sure he'd like to spend it in his own home, with his people."

"That doesn't even make any sense," she countered, cringing when she remembered that dreadful occasion.

Erestor smiled thoughtfully. He was rather in a good mood today. "You'll understand when it comes. Now, why don't you run along now and entertain the King? He has come a long way to visit you. And also…" His smiled turned sly. "Why don't you accompany Prince Thranduil in the forest? He seems restless."

Erynlith looked confused and turned towards the doorway. As if in defeat, Thranduil emerged from his hiding place, arms held up in surrender. "It was not my intention to eavesdrop," he said calmly, walking and sitting on the bed parallel to Erestor's. He smirked up at Erynlith. "So, Lórinand, huh?"

"Oh, you're unbelievable!" Erynlith sighed deeply and stomped out of the infirmary. Thranduil glanced at Erestor, who smiled and gave him an encouraging nod. The Sindarin prince nodded back and went after Erynlith.

They were in the forest now, leaves scattered all over and crunched when stepped on. She knew she was being followed and did not pay any attention to him anymore. She did not know where she was going, nor why she was even being followed in the first place. Her mind thought of what King Amdír would have decided what was best for her and for Erestor. She contradicted the very idea of moving away when her companions were not healed yet.

"Where are you going?" Thranduil asked from behind her, smiling deviously.

"Nothing in particular," Erynlith quickly answered and bit her lip. If the 'tra-la-la' fell from her lips, Thranduil would make fun of her once more.

She did not notice him already walking beside her. Her mind still wandered aloft, back in Rivendell where she could be curled up under her covers while Erestor worked on his many reports for Elrond. She imagined Lindir serving them hot cups of tea during the winter or Gildor sharing his stories in the Halls of Fire.

"Come with me," Thranduil suddenly said, pulling her sleeve. She looked at him incredulously, fearing that the beautiful green fabric that she wore would cut from his grip. He laughed it off and pulled again. "Just come with me. I discovered something in the forest a few days ago."

Grumbling, she complied and made sure her sleeves were still in place. King Oropher was too kind to lend her a dress. Her companion seemed enthusiastic about it, and she was actually very curious. They had never been that friendly to each other before and it felt uncomfortable for them being together now.

Soon, they reached a small waterfall located somewhere not very far from the infirmary. The water cascaded from a steep cliff, the current not exactly very strong, and the water pooled down into a small river that connected to Anduin. The falls was surrounded by lush vegetation and trees, but what caught Erynlith's eyes was the bluebells growing near the river bank. She pulled away from Thranduil's grip, surprising him. She knelt in front of the small patch of flowers and smiled.

"Bluebells, bluebells, tra-la-lay," she sang in a whisper, touching a petals gently.

Thranduil smiled. "There's more than just bluebells here."

Erynlith turned around to see what he meant. Beside Thranduil's legs, there was a small dent almost obscured by thick bushes. Then, he knelt down, his eyes still locked on hers, and he knocked on the roof of the small den. Erynlith blinked; nothing seemed to happen. But as they waited, a quiet howl answered them. Thranduil knocked on the den again, louder this time, and from the den a small fox ran outside. Erynlith smiled and quickly knelt beside Thranduil, and reached out to pat the fox.

"Ah, no," he said, moving her hand away from the creature's head.

She looked confused. "Why not?"

He chuckled and whispered to her. "They have cubs," he said, grinning. He leaned back to see her brightened reaction.

"Really?"

"That's right," he said, completely amused. "Animals are territorial of their young. They will do whatever it takes to protect them. You shouldn't push your luck on every animal you come across. Not all of them are as friendly as you think."

"But the fox that I know is friendly," Erynlith argued. She remembered the fox she always patted on the head whenever she went out to get Erestor's bluebells in the morning.

Thranduil smiled. "You'll be surprised," he said. He rolled a pebble inside the den. Few whimpers and barks echoed from inside. Slowly, another one emerged, with its head held down hinting submission to their foreigners.

But Erynlith recognized the second one. "It's him!" she chirped at Thranduil, making him chuckle more. "It's the fox I always see every morning, tra-la-la."

By this time, Thranduil and Erynlith already sat cross-legged near the entrance of the case; the two foxes looked at them inquiringly. The first one was hostile and kept on hissing at Thranduil, while the second one approached Erynlith and rubbed its head against her knees. She smiled and patted this familiar fox. Then, Thranduil leaned closer for another whisper.

"Are you sure?" Erynlith could not believe him.

He smiled. "See for yourself."

Four more foxes scrambled outside of the small den, wiggling unsteady on their little paws, biting ears and scratching their siblings as they ran out. When they stumbled on a rock, all four rolled on the group in a messy heap. They produced quiet, almost squeaking barks, and the two elves laughed. The second fox rushed to its cubs and licked the foreheads one by one.

"So, this is what you meant!" Erynlith beamed at Thranduil. It appeared her little fox friend had a family of its own. The four cubs continued running around, bushy red tail wagging as they played. She reached out for one and was surprised that the fox parents did not react violently. She set the cub on her lap, her hands on either sides, and she held it up for Thranduil to see. "Look! He's adorable," she chirped again. "Very, very adorable puppy, tra-la-la…"

Thranduil patted the cub's head gently. "He's adorable alright…"

"Can we keep him?" She asked hopefully, now nuzzling her nose against the cub's soft red fur.

The elf prince shook his head. "No, we can't."

"What? Why not?" Her smile turned upside-down. "Please?"

"No," Thranduil repeated sternly. He felt like a father reprimanding a child. "It needs to stay where his parents are. It's too young to be separated from each other. You should know that of all people. If you want to see them, we can always visit. The den is not very far from the infirmary. And because winter is coming, they will have to stay here for a few months." But she did not look convinced at all. Sighing, Thranduil gently took the cub from her hands and set it back on the ground. It ran off with its siblings and played again. "See? He likes it here."

"Are you sure we can visit them?"

He laughed and patted her head. "Of course. Now, stop frowning and smile again. I promise we'll visit them every morning if you'd like."

She smiled. "Keep that promise, okay? Everyone should always keep their promises, tra-lil-lay…"

"Yes, yes." He nodded obligingly. As the foxes returned to their peaceful den, Thranduil laid himself on the grass, arms serving as pillow, and he looked at the sky. The shadow of leaves obscured his view of the perfectly blue sky. "What do you plan on doing now?"

Erynlith did not grasp his meaning. "…Plan on what?"

He looked up to her. "The subject with King Amdír and Amroth. Will you and your companions really return to Lórinand?"

She shrugged. "I do not know. If Erestor wants to go, then I follow. It has always been that way. No one would be so surprised any more."

"But do you want to stay here in Greenwood?"

She did not expect that question. Her answer took long and she was reluctant to give it away. "Well, yes," she finally admitted. "I still couldn't have enough of Greenwood. There are more places to be explored and it feels too soon for me to leave."

"You can stay here for as long as you want," Thranduil insisted. "Let them travel to Lórinand while you stay here with us."

"I can't do that," she protested. "I can't leave Erestor alone."

That was the part Thranduil did not understand. What was so special about the dark-haired captain that Erynlith could not separate herself to him? What was it that kept them close together, the thing that bonded them? Thranduil knew they were good friends, but he just didn't understand. Erynlith wanted to stay in Greenwood so badly, but if Erestor leaves, and then she would as well. She kept putting other persons before her, and it made Thranduil ticked off.

"Why?" he asked, his voice was demanding and stern. Erynlith flinched at that tone. "Why do you keep on following Erestor?"

"Because I have to," she answered truthfully. She knew it would be hard for others to understand, but she just have to keep on answering them. "I brought this all on him, the assault in the mountains, his injuries, and basically all his hurts. I cannot leave him alone, and I will never."

Thranduil grunted and stood up, not bothering to dust off the leaves and twigs on his brocade. He left the site without a word, and Erynlith followed him back into the palace. She could tell the prince was irritated at something, and she could not think of any reasons. Was it Erestor? She really did not know. When they reached the palace and Thranduil still did not talk to her, her spirit fell.

The day that started so pleasant ended up in bitterness.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** Kings always get what they want so... Stay tuned!

**Author's Notes:** Okay, for all the readers out there, I am _sooooo_ sorry for the really really long update! It has been what, almost two months?! The computer broke and I had nothing but wi-fi! (I don't know which is worse to lose -_-) Here's more to King Amdir's sass, and more Thranduil/Erynlith shenanigan. Thank you for those who reviewed last chapter; I missed you guys! (T_T)

**Please review!** I missed reading reviews! Any reactions, opinions, etc. will be greatly reasured! Thank you and have a good day!


	11. Departure

**Chapter 11**

_**Departure**_

* * *

"Are we all clear now, King Oropher?" King Amdír said; his voice ever soothing and persuasive.

The two kings were on the palace's veranda, attended by few butlers and handmaidens. Harpers were also present to play them appeasing songs that both kings had not heard from a very long time now. King Oropher was wondering when he would hear Erynlith singing for him. The veranda overlooked the distant meadow of bluebells and the river beyond it. Amdír knew his kingdom was on the other side of that river, and he couldn't wait to get back, taking his son and niece with him.

King Oropher swirled the crimson solvent within his cup as if in deep thought. Yet, he was reluctant to give in to what Amdír had proposed, a solution he thought would be better for the two kings and two kingdoms. Sighing, Oropher chugged the liquor in one swift motion, its sweetness filling his stomach in a warm sensation.

"I cannot be sure of this," he replied, placing the cup down on the table. It was quickly refilled by one of the butlers. "What I mean is: everyone is so used in having Erynlith and Erestor around. I personally prefer if they stay here."

"Personally?" King Amdír snorted. "Oropher, there is nothing more personal than I return to Lórinand with my family, particularly my niece. Do you have any idea how long she was sundered from us?"

Oropher nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, of course, but I am also thinking of what other's might say."

"Others?" Amdír repeated, not sounding convinced at all.

"Well…" Oropher thought of a better way to put it. "Well, my son has quite good terms with Erynlith. I cannot really elaborate, since I am not sure myself, but they have become friends. It would be disappointing for Thranduil if his friend leaves the Greenwood, and he would surely be against it."

"Simple." Amdír leaned back to his chair. "We leave in secrecy. It should not be so hard to do so. I would be delighted to leave as soon as possible. Lórinand has been kingless for a while now."

"Ah," Oropher muttered, already running out of excuses. Thranduil would lash out on him if he was deceived. "When do you really plan on leaving?"

"In two days, I suppose," Amdír replied. "As long as everything is set. Now, are we clear?"

Ororpher sighed in defeat. He knew it would better if Erynlith and Erestor left for Lórinand, but he also considered Thranduil's opinions. But arguing with the other king would be pointless. "Yes, we are. I'll see what I can do about Thranduil."

"Very good." Amdír smiled. "Thank you, my friend. I must go and visit the infirmary." He stood up and left. Oropher watched him leave and when the other king was out of sight, he sighed again. He should call for Thranduil immediately.

* * *

Laughter sounded in the infirmary. The other healers laughed quietly to themselves in one corner. Santien did not join them this time; she was out looking for herbs with Raithon, the Elven-guard captain. On Erestor's bedside, Erynlith and Amroth were there; the elf prince sat on the bed beside Erestor's.

"You mean to say… you set the kitchen on fire?" Erestor sounded bewildered, and the two other elves laughed with him.

"It cannot be helped back then," Amroth said in his defense. "Remember that one time Gildor fell off his horse and it was all Eryn's fault?"

"Hey!" Erynlith protested. "That was not _entirely_ my fault!"

Then, they laughed again. The laughter only ceased when King Amdír arrived. Even the healers clamped their mouths shut and allowed the King entrance. Amroth quickly got off the bed to greet his father while Erynlith scooted closer to Erestor. The father and son whispered their greetings to each other before the King proceeded at the foot of Erestor's bed. Erynlith avoided the King's gaze but Erestor boldly looked up.

"Good morrow, Your Highness," Erestor greeted. "I am quite ashamed for you to see me in this compromising condition."

The King chuckled good-naturedly. "Please, Erestor. I am glad that you are well. Does Elrond know about this?"

Erestor shook his head. "I believe he does now."

The conversation went on as per usual. They sounded like two friends of old, very familiar with each other. The once demanding King of Lórinand was now thoughtful and soft-spoken. It made Erynlith sigh in relief; the King always made her tense, even during her youth. It was good to see him smiling and laughing with them. At lunchtime, Amdír and Amroth went back into the palace, and the King was disappointed when Erynlith had once again declined his offer to join them. A group of butlers arrived from the palace to serve the lunch in the infirmary.

"What happens now?" Caladhir asked Erynlith. His strength was back and he could move out from his bed. But the wounds on his torso acted up every once in a while, prompting him to wince and lie back down. Santien often attended on him, dressing the bandages and cleaning his wounds. He was not entirely bed-ridden as Erestor was; Caladhir's legs took little damage compared to what Erestor had.

Erynlith paused in the middle of slurping her soup. "I do not know," she shrugged and brought the spoon to her lips. The soup tasted well, she observed. "We'll have to return to Lórinand sooner or later."

"I think I'd prefer that," Caladhir sighed in relief. He drained his bowl of his soup. "Lórinand has a more pleasant atmosphere than Greenwood."

"Maybe…" Erynlith reluctantly agreed and continued consuming her soup. And Erestor only listened. "I just want to return to Rivendell, not in Lórinand, really. I mean, Lord Elrond is probably more worried than anyone else. And he is even yet to see how you guys are doing."

Caladhir chuckled, tucking the dark strands of his hair behind his ear. "I do not mind where we end up, as long as the three of us are together. We have been through so much these past few weeks."

"Tell me about it," Erynlith smiled.

* * *

"I can't believe you're still not ready to go."

Raithon was dressed in his traveling suit and all, while the Prince of Greenwood was lazily lounging in the library.

The elf prince was trying to finish the architectural design of the fortress his father wanted him to finish that same day. For years, Oropher planned on fortifying a fortress in the far north, beyond the mountains of Greenwood the Great. Fell creatures lingered always in the south of Greenwood, near Amon Lanc where the Silvan folk lived, and it made Oropher restless. The wargs became numerous and often threatened to enter the forest. The Silvan lived in fear almost every day, and Oropher could not take it anymore. The design Thranduil was planning was still a rough draft of what he had in mind. He knew the King trusted his creativity and talent, and that was all Thranduil needed for motivation. But suddenly, the King had come into his room and demanded that the design be finished soon.

"Sire?" Raithon called out to him again.

Finally, with an exasperated sigh, Thranduil looked up from his work, twirling his pen impatiently. He glared icily at his friend. "Don't start with me. What is it?"

"Why are you not ready yet? You are supposed to finish that the _other_ day. We are to leave in a few minutes, and you're still in your pajamas."

Thranduil could snap his pen in two now. The afternoon was quite windy and dry, but he enjoyed his quiet and thoughtful time alone. Honestly, he enjoyed sketching the soon-to-be fortress of the Elvenking. It all went downhill, however, when his beloved silence was interrupted by the cheerful captain. He groaned the tease and went back to work. "I was so busy I've forgotten. Give me five minutes and I'll be out with you."

"Sure you will." Raithon took the seat in front of the elf prince. He stared at the draft of the fortress; it was barely completed, but he knew it would look well. He groaned and tapped on the wooden table impatiently. "Four minutes…"

"Shut it, why don't you?" Prince Thranduil snapped back.

Raithon put up his hands defensively. "Alright already. Stop sulking here in the library. I'll wait for you outside. Be quick about it. Everyone is excited to explore the northern forest." He went for the doorway until he remembered something. "Oh, and by the way, King Oropher thinks you're such an indoor person."

He was sorting out the pillars on his fortress sketch. "Indoor person," he scoffed. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you have to go out every once in a while," the Sindarin captain pointed out.

The elf prince rolled his eyes and returned to his work. "How very enlightening, Captain."

Laughing, Raithon waved his friend goodbye and proceeded to the field.

When he was left alone once more, Thranduil huffed. "Indoor person."

* * *

_Last night_

Amroth desperately tried to shake Erynlith awake. It was midnight, and she slept in the infirmary with Erestor and Caladhir. When Amdír had announced that they have to leave right away, Amroth stealthily returned to the infirmary to gather the injured ones. He was accompanied by most of their Nandorian entourage. And as he gently shook Erynlith awake, Caladhir was already being taken outside by the marchwardens, and was mounted on a horse. Erestor was awoken next and was carried as well. He winced at the pain and he grunted when he was lifted from his bed.

"Does King Oropher know about this?" Erestor asked the elf who carried him outside.

The elf guard nodded and slung Erestor's arm around his shoulder and helped him regain the balance. "He does, but not the Prince Thranduil, I think. It would be efficient if we leave in secrecy. Tomorrow, the Elven-guard will set out for their northern borders. They will not notice that we have left."

Erestor felt uncomfortable about leaving in secrecy. But he complied and was already mounted on a black horse. "Please, wait here," the Nando whispered and went back into the infirmary.

Amroth looked up from the bed; all the marchwardens waited were him and Erynlith. He knew King Amdír was already waiting outside. He turned back to the sleeping elf and shook her again. "Eryn," he said. "We have to go."

She moaned and rubbed her eyes. "Go where?"

"Back home," Amroth answered and carried a half-asleep Erynlith out of the room. Arcastar was mustered for them, and the elf prince had to lift Erynlith on the horse. He followed suit, sitting behind her as he leaned her head on his shoulder. Arms were on either side, holding the reins tightly. With Amdír's command, the host of the Nandor marched and silently walked under the starlight.

Oropher watched them leave on his own. None of the Silvan folk knew about this, except for some of the elf guards. Even Raithon did not know; he was far too close to Thranduil for this kind of secrecy. And the King's mood turned gloomy as the glinting hair of the King and his son faded into the darkness. It would be quite different not to have the eccentric and clueless Erynlith around, but he felt the worry in his heart if ever Thranduil found out about it.

Thranduil yawned lazily and rubbed his eyes. His white horse neighed softly beside him, neighing and rubbing its muzzle on his shoulder. Absentmindedly, he patted the horse's muzzle and waited for his companions. He was clad in his usual hunting garb, green and brown, and on his back was his quiver. He held his slender bow on his free hand. It was morning already and he wondered how his companions could be so slow.

Finally, Raithon came jogging towards him.

"You're late," Thranduil said accusingly. "How can we start on our bet when the captain is tardy?"

"I am not tardy," Raithon said in his defense. "Something came up and Santien was really worried."

"About what?" Thranduil did not like how it sounded.

The captain shrugged. "She didn't tell me. Anyway, we should get going. The others are already here."

The Elven-host gathered in front of the palace. Only Thranduil and Raithon had horses, implying their position in the group. Few Silvan elves bade them farewell, among them was Santien, looking uninterested. But as Thranduil glanced at her, he knew the usual aloof healer was indeed worried about something, and he wanted to ask. There was no time for it now; King Oropher emerged from the palace and smiled at the Elven-host. The guards bowed dutifully and marched off in a straight line.

Thranduil bowed to his father, and said: "We'll be back shortly. I'll see what I can do with our planned fortress. I think it would be better if it's near the forest river or something."

"And underground," Oropher added and smiled.

Thranduil chuckled. Instantly, he was redirected to a memory from a very long time ago, back when he ran under the trees, following a silver-haired marchwarden around the forest. He remembered being a child back then, admiring almost everyone in the fenced land. Snapping back to the present, he smiled and said obligingly, "And underground. I'll see you really soon."

"Be careful," Oropher said, patting his son's shoulder.

"Before I leave, I'll check on the infirmary first." Thranduil was about to leave when the King pulled his wrist.

"Your host is leaving," Oropher insisted and earned a confused look from Thranduil. "I will tell Lady Erynlith that you've left."

The Prince shook his head. "It's not just Erynlith, Adar."

"Then, who? Erestor?" the King teased.

Thranduil looked flustered. "Really, Adar! Fine, I am leaving! I'll see you in a week. Send Erynlith my regards." He waved at his father and mounted his white horse. They caught up with the marching Elven-host.

As the palace disappeared from their sight, Thranduil was back into his thoughts. His father looked and sounded different. He could tell that the King was tensed, and it bothered him. Everyone seemed tense that morning, Oropher and Santien. Did they know something he didn't? It was quite frustrating for him. He glanced at Raithon who was engrossed in a conversation with another elf guard. His friend also looked clueless about it; had Raithon knew about anything, his first thing to do was to announce smugly at Thranduil that the captain knew something the prince did not.

He sighed in defeat. He was probably more worried than being away from the palace for a week than anything else in the world.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** Thranduil continues his journey to the north, but also reminisces on his life.

**Author's Notes:** Yay, I'm back again! Sorry for another late upload, was busy for the exam week. Our Lorinand King gets what he wants! #LorienDoubleA. Also, next chapter will expand Thranduil as a character. Stay tuned!

***Rousdower** \- Welcome back, Rousy! Poor widdle Thrandy when he finds out about this... :'(

***SarahWeasley** \- Thank you for reading and for the review! I am hoping you'll continue dropping by and leave some reviews! :)

***DeLacus** \- Yoooooooo! Good to have you back too! Yay for King Amdir #LorienDoubleA and for Erynlith and Erestor! (Possibly #RivendellDoubleE or something? Haha!)

Reviews are always appreciated: constructive criticism, opinions, and suggestions... Fire away! Thank you! :)


	12. Untold Stories II

**Chapter 12**

_**Untold Stories Part 2**_

* * *

In three days, Thranduil and his company had crossed the mountains and reached the northern borders of their kingdom. Compared to the well-established southern part, the north was wild with overgrown trees and unfamiliar plants. The grass was as tall as their knees and the light emanated from the thick green leaves of the trees. Birds chirped and flew to and fro, as if greeting the elves in their domain. As the Elven-guard walked on, they took their time looking around the strange place. It had been too long since they last visited, and that last time, King Oropher was with them.

Thranduil led his horse on foot; his one hand loosely clutched the black reins. Even Raithon was now walking, darting his eyes to every corner he could see. Whispers came between the elf guards behind them, some speaking in their native Silvan dialect. This dialect Thranduil and his father learned over the years; for they were foreigners from that land some thousand years ago. Oropher had led the small part of his remaining Sindarin people across the Blue Mountains and founded Greenwood, and the Silvan folk took him as their king. It was a very long time ago now; he could barely remember what his birthplace even looked like.

He sighed deeply, trying to muster what memory he could find. He walked absentmindedly among his companions, and his eyes were now set on the green ground in which he trekked. He was capable of resting his mind whilst walking, an ability he did not share with others. And as he walked, he felt himself getting lighter by the second; the voices of his companions faded into the light.

Prince Thranduil remembered who he was then, some thousand years ago; he was a young elf, too easy to influence by the elders around him. He remembered his father Oropher, still but a lord back then, a member of the Hidden King's court; and his mother was as beautiful as any Elven-maidens of old. Her hair was as bright as the celandine that bloomed in the forest; her eyes were dark and soft. Thranduil remembered how these eyes could turn pierce whenever he had done any mischief. His world revolved around her. He also remembered how he used to clutch a bow in his hands, a fake recurve bow that one of the marchwardens had given him. He remembered looking up to this marchwarden, the silver hue of his hair was unmistakable. This was the best archer of the forest, and possibly the whole world; and Thranduil had always been mesmerized by that very fact alone. Every morning he would get up, take his bow, and run outside to meet his marchwarden friend. And he would always be waiting for him; with a strong bow in his hands, Thranduil knew he was called after it.

One day, however, his friend bade farewell to him, saying something about going after another friend. Thranduil looked dismay back then; he knew very well that this man was an outsider who disrespected one of the King's counselors. The dark-haired man was fully-grown while Thranduil remained almost like a child to the eyes of others. Reluctantly, he bade farewell to his friend and hoped for the best. Years passed and news arrived in the forest. It disheartened everyone who heard it. The Strongbow was no more, and so was the friend he tried to reclaim.

Thranduil remembered crying quietly under the shade of an old beech tree across the river, his knees tucked to his chest as he bit his lip. His friend would have scolded him for crying, but he could not help it. He imagined his friend sitting beside him, the strong bow clutched tightly in his hands wherein he earned his epithet. The silver hair shone under the moonlight, but his face resembled Erynlith more. There was a pennant fastened on the longbow's grip, a pennant emblazoned with trees and three silver stars on a green field.

In his youth, he remembered having few friends. He was not exactly very sociable as he matured. He was often in a company of few people, among them was Raithon, one of the marchwarden's sons. It would be hard to believe that the very elf he remembered was still walking beside him, always at his side even if things went worse. Thranduil remembered the King's daughter, how she was always called the 'most beautiful of them all', and he did not disagree. That infamous beauty was noticeable even for strangers. But he never spoke to her, and did not even intend to do so. Whether it was the feeling of inferiority that the King implied to him, he did not know, even to this day.

In his brief reverie, Thranduil jerked up, feeling the cold hand on his shoulder. He turned behind him and saw Raithon's inquiring look.

"Are you alright? You don't seem well to me," his friend and captain said. "Maybe you are tired. Come, let us rest for a while."

"No," Thranduil said reassuringly. "I was just… lost in thought, I guess. We cannot delay. We have to reach the end of the forest river before sundown. I would like to make a fast outline of the place so I may start working on a more appropriate architectural design. Let's go."

He pulled the reins of his horse and the others followed. He felt irritated for being interrupted; his reverie was getting better, or so he thought. His pace quickened so that he would be a few steps in front, away from the whispering guards.

_Now, where was I?_

His reverie returned him on the memory he hated most. There was a great battle; their underground palace was under siege. He could see his people being scattered among the stampeding citizens; some were screaming in terror, some called out for their loved ones, while others cried. He was among those scattering elves, desperately pushing his way out of the messy crowd. On his hand was his bow, a long one a good-natured marchwarden handled him ere the siege took place. Thranduil called out for her, for his mother that he could not see. His father searched on another place, calling out her name over and over again. And as the search continued, the doors of the fortress broke open and the hateful Naugrim burst in. What happened next was blurry, even in his memory. All he could remember was that, Oropher was kneeling on the edge of the underground bridge, weeping. Thranduil slowly made his way and peered over his father's shoulder. And there she was, the beloved mother he was looking for, bloody and lifeless. The light in her eyes were quenched and her lips were parted as she sighed her last breath. And in that very moment, Thranduil collapsed on the ground and wept.

A few years later, Oropher led the remnant of the Sindarin kingdom. Amdír and his younger sister were among this small company, and holding Amdír's hand tightly was the young Amroth. His mother was lost in the second siege wherein an army of foreigners demanded for a petty elf-smith's jewel. The Hidden King was no more, and so were his beautiful daughter, and his heir. But the heir's daughter escaped, and her Sindarin kindred know not where she had gone. Thus, the small company of elves marched across the mountains and eventually founded small realms to rule. Amdír and Oropher divided the forest among them; and Amdír ruled among the Nandor while Oropher ruled the native Silvan of Greenwood.

* * *

Erynlith forced an awkward smile. Their return to Lórinand was unexpected, especially when she was taken while she was half-asleep. But there was no turning back now. It had been three days since they arrived in Lórinand, and Caladhir and Erestor were admitted into a better-looking infirmary. Things turned worse when Amroth suddenly abandoned her for the fair Nimrodel, the very reason why she was smiling so awkwardly. Her cheeks began to hurt, and she wished to be back in Greenwood with the friendly Silvan folk.

"Good morning, tra-la-lay…" Erynlith sang as she passed by the river Nimrodel always sat on. The Nandorian elf-maiden had bright golden hair, and her eyes were as blue as the sky. Erynlith had often wondered how she never had that kind of beautiful eyes, or even the rich golden hair Amdír and Amroth had. Even her mother had the same golden hair. On the other hand, she was stuck with her father's dark hair and dark eyes, making her look more like Erestor than her own family members.

Nimrodel looked up from where she sat. Her legs dangled on the river bank, feet dipped into the cold, rushing waters. She did not speak; she could barely comprehend the common speech, and Erynlith felt silly for not remembering. Erestor had always reprimanded her of learning the language, but somehow, she always forgot about it.

"Ah, um, _'quel amrun_," Erynlith tried again in Sindarin, hoping the elf-maiden would understand.

A sly smile crept upon Nimrodel's lips, and she nodded. She returned her eyes on the water. Erynlith quickly dismissed herself from the lady, mentally noting never to pass that river ever again.

* * *

"Here we are!" Raithon beamed at his companions. Gears were carelessly dropped on the ground, and the elf guards stretched their aching limbs. Raithon placed his hands above his hips. "Did I not tell you to rest? Or is it because Thranduil refused?" He gave his friend an accusing look.

Thranduil chuckled as he set himself on the ground, sitting cross-legged, and leaning against a white boulder. "We are in a hurry. We have no shelter here and no fortress to protect us should enemies arrive, especially in the night. We have to be quick with our errands. I expect luncheon to be served when the afternoon comes. For now, let us rest. I will do my quick assessment later."

"The forest river looks good, no?" Raithon dropped beside Thranduil. His eyes were locked on the said river up ahead. "If we are ever to make a fortress somewhere here, I would choose next to the river. Then, we can build gates and bridges made of stones. An underground palace like the good old days, hm?"

_Underground palace_, Thranduil thought gloomily. Then, he pulled out a paper and quill from his pack. He began sketching the scene before him: the trees, river, boulders, and even the slightest overgrown roots and thorny bushes. It was a rough draft that would need many revisions later. He imagined their new fortress being built in that very spot, and it excited him to know that this fortress would be designed after the palace he remembered from his youth.

"And if it's finished, I want to start my own family." His friend sighed. "It's about time for us, don't you think?"

"Speak for yourself," the elf prince countered, not looking up from his work. He began to put more detail on the course of the river and the banks beside it.

"Is that a mountain I see?" Raithon narrowed his eyes.

Finally, Thranduil looked up and saw a mountain. His eyebrow twitched when he remembered something else. His mood turned grim and he quickly returned to his sketch. He mumbled something under his breath, prompting Raithon to ask about it. But Thranduil shrugged his friend off; now he really wished he was back in the south, dozing off in the library or probably bothering someone…

Then it hit him.

He could be at Greenwood now, bothering Erynlith. Somehow, he felt incomplete, especially when he was not given a chance to say goodbye. And it had been three days; of course she would wonder where the haughty Prince of Greenwood went. He could be at Greenwood now, wandering in the forest and most likely visiting the small family of foxes he introduced to her. Or they could be picking bluebells for Erestor again, or he could be hearing Erynlith singing one of her weird songs.

"Uh, Thranduil?" Raithon inquired again.

He blinked and looked at his friend. "What?"

The dark-haired captain pointed at the sketch. Beside the river, a standing figure was drawn. It was no doubt that the physique was female, but her face could not be seen. It appeared that she was overlooking the river and it was evident that she had a flower in her hands. Her dark hair was unmistakable.

Thranduil blanched and felt his blood run cold. He quickly took the paper away from his friend's eyes, but it was already too late. The captain was smiling smugly, as if he had just found out the greatest secret there was.

"Thought you said you weren't interested," he simpered.

"I am _not_," Thranduil answered sternly. "This is _not_ her…"

"I haven't mentioned a name yet, you know…"

"Be quiet and let me finish my work. Go away and hunt for our lunch."

"Oh, come on! Can't we spare a little time to talk about that little drawing?"

"NOW, RAITHON!"

The captain laughed heartily as he left a pale Thranduil to himself.

* * *

Erynlith never felt bored in her life before. From what Amroth had assured her some days ago, the Nandor of Lórinand would welcome her delightfully. They did, but as the days passed, they seemed to forget that she was there. She rarely saw Erestor; the healers in Lórinand were stricter than Santien.

She anticipated that Amroth would give her company. But as she sat inside her room, she found herself Amroth-_less_. The Prince was too occupied in keeping his beloved Nimrodel company day-in and day-out. He tried coaxing her into joining them in a stroll in the forest, but Erynlith always declined. She didn't want to intrude on their little romantic sessions, after all. It always made her cringe to her bones whenever she thought of that.

As if on cue, Amroth entered her room.

"Aren't you going downstairs? People are preparing for _Aduinal en Meleth_. It will take place in the next three days. Come on. I know you want to see how the food preparation is going…" he crooned at her.

She pursed her lips. "Depends… Nimrodel gonna be there?"

Amroth paused for a while. "Well, of course, she will be."

"Then I am not going out, tra-la," Erynlith sang.

"You cannot be that hostile to each other now, Eryn," Amroth pleaded her.

It was always his problem, to get those two to like each other. His Nimrodel had always been the cautious one, too cautious as even the King Amdír had noticed. She disliked the outsiders from the forest, and Erynlith and Erestor were no exceptions. Whenever those two arrived in Lórinand, Nimrodel would keep her distance from them, either glaring or muttering something. No one really blamed her for that. Everyone knew how much these foreigners had brought problems in their forests. Nimrodel blamed them for the orcs and wargs in the fields. Her hostility to Erynlith was not personal, merely a product of her constant distrust of others.

"Just… give it a try, okay?" Amroth tried again. Erynlith nodded and watched him leave her room.

* * *

"Are you ready to depart?" Thranduil asked his companions impatiently. He was already mounted on his white horse; his gears and packs were ready. But his companions were still packing their things, and he sighed impatiently. Their brief stay in the north was a rather pleasant one. The weather was chilly due to the incoming winter. At last, after what seemed to be years, the Elven-host was once again ready to depart.

It took them another few days to travel. And among that time, Thranduil had once again secluded himself from the group, recounting the memories he had almost lost. His memories returned him to the year before his marchwarden friend left. That warden had one son, and that son was well-known for his umber hair and grey eyes. He was tall and proud, and grew at the same pace as Thranduil himself. But they were not friends; he preferred the warden to be his friend instead. He remembered when the marchwarden gave him a recurve bow for starters, and a slender quiver to accompany it. Thranduil had been so cheerful back then that he actually skipped dinner just to run around the forest with his new gift.

Other elves had also caught his attention before. Most of them were minstrels and counselors of the Hidden King, and those counselors were friends of his father. Amdír's younger sister was also his friend, a pale and golden-haired lady much like her brother and nephew. She was easy to please and most light-hearted in all situations. Oropher had once considered getting them together, but Amdír downright refused that offer.

"Where are you?" A voice sounded beside him, and it was Raithon.

Thranduil smiled. "Back when the world was younger, and so are we."

"Ah, _those_ days." Raithon shuddered as the evening wind breezed past him. "I do not know why you are lingering in the past too much. Do you miss someone? Or do you intend to do that to yourself?"

"A little of both," Thranduil admitted. What was wrong with him today, dwelling on the past? Was it what people call nostalgia? He was an elf and being nostalgic was not in his vocabulary. But here he was, smiling and frowning at the newly-brought up memories. He supposed he had never done that before, being busy with his work as a Prince, and thinking about those old days made him feel closer to his lost friends, to his lost mother.

In another few days, they arrived back in Amon Lanc, eagerly greeted by the Silvan folk. They missed the Elven-host, no doubt, and it made the elf guards more cheery than they had been on their journey. The other guards offered to take away the gears and horses. Thranduil and Raithon went on their separated ways, with the latter rushing over to see how Santien was doing. She must have been lonely without him. As Thranduil sprinted towards his father's study room, he paused, remembering Erynlith all of a sudden. With a little smile on his fair face, he turned his heels and went for the infirmary.

As expected, Raithon and Santien were already there, and the auburn-haired healer looked distressed. Thranduil approached her, somewhat concerned, and asked: "What happened? Are you alright?"

Santien shook her head. She did not speak. Then, Thranduil looked up to his friend, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. The captain shook his head and gestured for the prince to enter. Thranduil did, and his eyes widened in realization. He cursed and ran back into the palace, searching frantically for his father. The double doors of the King's study room were flung open, revealing an angry Thranduil on the other side. Oropher calmly disregarded his papers and turned to his son.

"Ah, Thranduil," the King greeted casually, opening his arms to receive his son. "You have returned, I see. How was the North? Have you found a place for our new fortress?"

"Where are they?" Thranduil demanded as he panted heavily. "Where is _she_?"

Oropher pretended not to know. He tilted his head innocently and looked confused. "Where is who, _ion nin_?" He tapped his nails on the desk and gestured for his son to sit down. "Relax now. Everything will be fine. But who are you looking for?"

"You know _damn_ well who!" Thranduil raised his voice, much to the King's surprise. Then, he paused, looking around. "Amroth… where is he? Where…? Oh, you are kidding me!" He sighed exasperatedly and quickly exited the study room.

Oropher could not see, but he could tell that the prince demanded the guards to bring his horse once again. He heard the steed neigh and its thundering hooves faded into nothingness. The King calmly took a sip from his wine cup and sighed in defeat.

"Oh, my. Thranduil is sharper than I thought he would be."

* * *

**Next Chapter:** The annual Evening of Romance in Lorinand takes place.

**Author's Notes:** Well! Would you look at that massive wall of texts? Sorry for making very long paragraphs; I wanted to establish Thranduil as a character before proceeding. If we had a glimpse of Eryn's life some six chapters ago, here is Thranduil's past. I really loved writing this chapter. There were so many _Silmarillion_ and _History of Middle-earth_ references. Did you manage to recognize some of them? (・ωｰ)

***Rousdower** \- "I thought we were a thing..." LOL. That was hilarious! Thrandy sure did not see that coming!

***DeLacus** \- From travelling to partaying, Thrandy will have more things in his hand the next chapter. Maybe I should start using the #RivendellDoubleE as well. LOL


	13. Aduial en Meleth I

**Chapter 13**

_**Aduial en Meleth**_

* * *

Everyone watched in surprise as the white horse halted in front of the King's fortress; its exhausted rider sliding off the leather saddle. His blue eyes scanned the fair forest, and all he could see were curious Nandor and Silvan elves. He knew none of these elves, but he knew they were familiar of him, or at least heard of him. He did not really visit Lórinand that much; his last time there was when the lands were attacked, and Oropher had to come to their aid. Slowly, his breathing calmed and his heart did not hammer in his chest anymore. He had regained his composure that was lost when he found out that his friends were gone from the Greenwood.

"Thranduil," someone whispered from behind him.

As he turned, the Prince of Lórinand gently pushed his way out of the encircling crowd around him. Amroth looked as confused as his people, and he could muster a word to express his surprise. Behind Amroth, Thranduil noticed an elf-maiden trailing him; her golden tresses were pulled back into a long braid over her right shoulder. Her dress was white and gleaming in the early afternoon light.

"Prince Amroth," Thranduil acknowledged the other elf prince.

"What brings you here, my friend?" Amroth asked cordially, not wanting to sound by any means rude. "Did you know that we have returned here?"

Thranduil shook his head in dismay. Once again, the elf-maiden behind Amroth caught his eyes. She was clinging onto Amroth's right arm, her head peering over his shoulder. For some reason, Thranduil knew she was afraid; the fear in her bright eyes was evident. "That was the problem," he answered Amroth. "No one told me that you and your company left Greenwood. I felt like a fool for not knowing for days." _And no one makes me feel like a fool_, he mentally added.

"Please, forgive us," Amroth said. "It was not really our intention to leave in secrecy. It just so happens that the King is impatient to return here." He motioned for one marchwarden to come. In an incoherent whisper, the marchwarden took the reins of Thranduil's horse and led the creature away. "Follow me. You must be tired. I will take you to a chamber where you can rest. You have come in a great timing because _Aduial en Meleth_ is tonight. And with you around, Erynlith will not be bored anymore."

With Nimrodel still eyeing him with curiosity, Thranduil smirked and followed Amroth. "That's the point," he said.

* * *

Erestor crossed his arms and pursed his lips. It was already afternoon, lunch would be served soon, but he wanted to rest for now. His injuries were now fully-healed but the pain lingered still on the damaged parts. He thought the atmosphere in Lórinand made him feel better. Even though he regarded himself as fully-healed, he still wanted to get some rest before luncheon. But he could not get on his bed, not when someone was already occupying it. He tried shaking her awake, that young strange elf he had known for years, but she would only mumble and roll on _his_ bed.

He sighed in defeat and sat on the edge, peering over her shoulder and tucking a lock of her hair behind the ear. He leaned down and whispered in his most soothing voice. "Wake up, little one. Lunch is going to be served soon and no one will wait for you. Get up and let me get my rest, tra-la-lo."

Erynlith pulled the cover over her head. "Five minutes," she answered groggily.

"That won't do," Erestor said, sighing deeply. He pulled the blanket off her face. "Get up and fix yourself. It's too early for you to sleep. You don't plan on sleeping until the _Aduial en Meleth_ ends, do you?"

She opened one eye and peeked at him. "I _do_ plan on sleeping until tomorrow. Wake me up when something interesting happens."

Erestor leaned his back against the bed post and crossed his arms. "Interesting like what? A dragon coming out of the sky?"

"Maybe, tra-la…" Erynlith answered in a singsong and pulled the covers again. "Leave me alone and save some food for me, okay?"

"That won't do." Erestor got up and snatched the blanket away from her again. He started folding it, and then dropped it on the pillow beside her. She did not budge and pretended to sleep further. Arching an eyebrow, he flopped on the bed next to her, wrapping an arm around her waist. He heard the younger elf laugh and Erynlith elbowed him on the chest, gently so that she may not hurt him. Erestor laughed as well and removed his arm. In that silence, he felt himself dozing off; his eyelids becoming heavier by the second. And as he felt himself drifting off to reverie, the Erynlith beside him jerked up and rolled from the bed, pushing him off.

Erestor fell on the wooden floor with a loud thud, and he heard Erynlith gasp on top of the bed. "Oh, are you alright? I am so sorry!"

"You have a knack on hurting me, haven't you?" Erestor grumbled and sat up. "I think my thigh injury is opened again…" He faked a long moan, and he even closed his eyes for an additional effect. As expected, Erynlith quickly got off the bed and sprinted outside the room, calling for the nearest healer.

"Stay here, brother! I'll be right back!" She exclaimed and exited the room, forgetting to put on her light shoes in her panic.

When he was left on his own, Erestor chuckled amusedly and flopped on _his_ bed, finally sighing at his dubious victory.

Meanwhile, Erynlith was staggering in search for a healer; her feet began to hurt for not wearing any shoes at all. She accidentally plunged herself into the crowd and pushed the elves in front of her. She muttered her sorry as the Nandor glared at her, whispering in their unfamiliar Silvan dialect. She felt extremely apologetic for pushing them but she had to find a healer, and _fast_. After apologizing in Sindarin, which she hoped the Nandor knew, she turned her heels towards the silver fortress of King Amdír. But as she turned around swiftly, she bumped her face onto a hard surface and fell down on the ground. She closed her eyes and moaned, soothing her aching nose.

"Ow," she mumbled. "Watch where you're going, tra-la-lay."

"That also applies to you, little one, tra-lil-lay…"

Erynlith shot her eyes open and looked at the elf. That arrogant smirk was so familiar that in hurt more than her nose. Thranduil chuckled and offered her a hand, which was slapped away. Erynlith stood up on her own, still glaring and trying to forget the pain in her nose.

"What are _you_ doing here? How did you even—?" She could not find the words to describe what was happening.

"I thought I'd visit for a while," answered Thranduil. "Prince Amroth has already showed my chambers. I'll be here in the next few weeks, I suppose, considering that I have done my reports. King Amdír also knows that I am here. I am looking for a great _Aduial en Meleth_ this year. I haven't tried celebrating it here in Lórinand. You ought to make it interesting for me, little one." His smirk widened.

Erynlith tried not to be impressed with his formal speaking and eloquence. His regal demeanor added into this. "Right…" was all she could mutter.

Thranduil chuckled. It was amusing to see people speechless in front of him. He began scanning her appearance. He could tell from her messy umber hair that she had just got out of bed; that cowlick on her forehead was unmistakable. And her pale blue dress was wrinkled from excessive rolls. As his eyes wandered lower, his brow arched at the sight of her bare feet beneath the hem of her skirt. Her toes curled around the dirt.

"Where are you going in such a hurry?" he asked, shifting the conversation elsewhere.

She flinched and ran past him. "Oh, that's right! I have to go! I'll see you tonight. No wait, I will not! Bye!"

He laughed and watched her leave. Maybe it was indeed a good idea to come after them.

* * *

The second the Sun went down and disappeared into the mountains, the elves of Lórinand emptied their comely houses and went forth to the King's courtyard for the annual celebration of _Aduial en Meleth_. It was an event that the Sindarin elves brought from their previous lands, and both Nandor and Silvan adopted it as they took these Sindar as their lords. The event was dedicated to elves who loved each other, an event full of affections for other elves. An evening of romance it was called in the common language, and it took place before the first fall of snow. Almost all elves in Lórinand and Greenwood looked forward on celebrating it, but separate celebrations were held between the two forests.

Thranduil stood in one corner, hands behind his back, as he thoughtfully watched the elves gather in the white courtyard. The place was illuminated by lamps that hung on the white pillars, emitting an azure light. On the other side of the courtyard was a long table filled with different kinds of food and drinks, ranging from Elvish cakes, fruits, and breads, to the King's exquisite wine. Thranduil's mouth watered just thinking about the drink. But he continued to observe; the elf-maidens were dressed in their best clothes, hair braided so elegantly and crowns of colorful flowers were upon their head. The males were in their brocades and breeches, with their dark hair also braided back. The marchwardens of Lórinand were there to participate, temporarily abandoning their outpost for this important event.

Sounds of cheering and claps caught Thranduil's attention back. In front of the crowd of elves, he could see King Amdír and Prince Amroth descending the staircase of their fortress. The father and son looked so much alike, with their matching silver robes and dark boots. The golden hair glinted with the light, and their grey eyes scanned the yard.

And Thranduil waited for Erynlith to descend, anticipating that she was only late, but eventually, she did not come. He looked around but she was not there. His eyes fell upon Nimrodel who was approached by Amroth and kissed on the cheek. It was indeed an evening of romance.

"Is everything alright, my lord?" a marchwarden approached Thranduil.

"Yes, I am well," he answered and the warden went off.

Now, Thranduil felt out of place, without anyone to talk to. The King was immersed in a conversation with his counselors, even at this kind of event, and a wine cup was in his hand. Amroth was occupied by Nimrodel in one corner, and soon, all elves around him were enthralled in the event. He shrugged and approached the table, resolved to get himself a drink. One elf-maiden served him his wine, a thoughtful Silvan with a bright smile, and he felt obliged to smile back.

"This is your first time here, my lord?" the Silvan elf asked, but Thranduil did not ask her name.

He nodded and drank from his cup. The sweet taste of the liquor was very soothing to him. "My first time to celebrate here, actually," he said. He noticed how the Silvan maiden was not mingling with the other elves. "Are you not going to join them?"

"I don't have someone to celebrate the night with." She gave him a modest smile.

"The evening doesn't necessarily need to be celebrated by lovers," he said. "Love is not a feeling. It is a decision in which two people decide if they should be together or not." He left his explanation at that and drank his wine again.

The maiden nodded in understanding.

Meanwhile, back in Erestor's chambers, the dark-haired counselor-and-captain was ready to leave. He was already prepared to celebrate the night. His robes were of dark blue, lined with golden trimming and ornate filigree on the trousers. His hair was neatly combed back, adorned with a silver leaf incrustation given to him by Celebrían. Basically, he was more than ready to leave his chambers, but the younger elf who sat cross-legged on his bed was dauntless.

"You need to go outside and get some fresh air," Erestor coaxed Erynlith on leaving. Apparently, after she had returned with a healer, she found Erestor lying on his back, already asleep. She figured he lied to her about the pain, and dishonesty ticked her off.

"I think you're big enough to handle yourself out there, tra-lo," Erynlith sang. "Besides, I don't have anything to do outside so I might as well stay here. Tell Amroth I said hi, tra-la-la…"

"Eryn, for the umpteenth time, you are coming down with me whether you like it or not." He pulled her out of the bed and dragged her outside, not caring anymore if she screamed in protest and flailed her arms around like a child throwing a fit. Eventually, the two reached the courtyard and it was only then when Erestor released her. He earned a glare from the younger elf but he shrugged it off. "Run along and have fun now…"

Erynlith huffed and walked away, her arms crossed. The elves that gathered there greeted her enthusiastically, appreciating that their lady had gone from her room to celebrate with them. And with the smiles all around her, she couldn't help but smile back. Her annoyance to Erestor suddenly dissipated. Not long after, she was among the celebrating elves. A harp was thrust on her hands by one of the drunken counselors, and persuaded her to sing a song for them. She did, and her voice reached the whole courtyard.

Thranduil looked up from his third cup, registering the familiar voice that he heard. He realized that everyone was silent in the courtyard; their eyes focused on one corner. Even his Silvan companion was absorbed in that, and he just had to turn around. As far as his eyes could see, there was Erynlith with a flock of minstrels around her, singing a song a counselor had suggested. Erestor was standing next to her, clearly singing the same song under his breath. Slowly, Thranduil got up from his seat on the table and approached them. When he arrived, the song was finished and the elves resumed their merry-making and dancing.

"That was… captivating," Thranduil said and walked towards her.

Erynlith smiled and returned the harp to its rightful owner. "Nah, the others delivered the song pretty well. I was merely supporting them, tra-la," she said. "Having fun yet?"

He chuckled. "Not much. No one seems to even notice me."

"Too bad," she shrugged. "Well, I must return to my chambers. Erestor was being silly for pulling me into this celebration. Good night, tra-lo." She was about to leave when the King Amdír came out of nowhere and snaked an arm around her shoulders. He pulled her back in front of Thranduil, as her eyes widening in surprise.

"Lórinand is well-known for its hospitality," King Amdír began impishly. "Wouldn't you agree, Prince Thranduil? Guests must be entertained and attended well, especially by a member of the King's court. Now, dear Erynlith, wouldn't you keep our significant guest some company? It would do me great honor if you do."

She sighed in defeat. "And I can't decline, Your Highness?"

King Amdír laughed good-naturedly. "I'm afraid you can't. Now, do as I say and enjoy the celebration. The night is still young. Many things are yet to occur." With that, he kissed Erynlith's hair and went off to his own business.

"You heard the King," Thranduil crooned. "It's about time Lórinand's hospitality is appreciated by the Prince of Greenwood the Great, tra-la."

Erynlith wanted to whine and get back on her bed. Well, it was actually Erestor's bed, but no one would matter now. She was stuck to entertain a guest who was not even invited in the first place. "What do you intend to do anyway? The table is set if you want to eat," she offered and hoped that he would accept it.

Thranduil looked at her mischievously. "What about a dance? You _do_ know how to dance, right?"

"Tried it once. Didn't like it."

"A niece of a King should _at least_ know how to dance," he breathed incredulously. "Are you sure you're related to King Amdír? Or maybe you are somehow adopted and Erestor is forced to watch over you, and—"

Erynlith had already stomped away in anger. Thranduil reached out for her wrist and held her firmly on her waist, already waltzing their way through the dancing crowd. Erynlith blanched and tried to pull away gently as to make it seem rude to the other elves. But the hand on her waist was persistent and the elf prince in front of her was smirking. She glared and tried to pull away again.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Thranduil whispered in her ear.

Erynlith was about to snap something at him but her eyes caught King Amdír. He was watching them intently. He wanted to make sure his niece complied with his orders. And Erynlith paled more when the King nodded at her; he was far too demanding that she had known. She bit her lip and tore her gaze from the King, her feet following the slow rhythm of Thranduil's. She kept her head hung low, not wanting to meet that piercing blue eyes hovering above her.

"This is all you fault," she muttered. "I told you I don't dance. You didn't have to literally sweep me off my feet."

Thranduil chuckled. "Don't think I did what I did because I have a… what do people call it… a _crush_… on you," he said nonchalantly, still looking down at her. "Maidens usually jump into those conclusions. And about being related to the King… I only wanted to see you cry. But I wish you could forgive me, little one."

Finally, she looked up at him. "Good because I don't jump into conclusion. If you wanted to see me cry, you should have told me sad song instead. That might work, tra-la-lay."

"No," he answered sternly. "I like to challenge myself on that one."

"You find this incredibly amusing, don't you?" Erynlith narrowed her eyes at him. Just then, Thranduil twirled her around in time with the other dancing elves.

"Yes. It is very good for you… and very amusing for me." Thranduil led her further into the middle of the dance floor. His partner blinked her eyes from the sudden bright light from the lamps. Again, he twirled her and caught her waist. He felt Erynlith weakening by the second, and his brow arched in questioning. "Are you alright?"

She panted softly. "I'm good, really good."

"Do you want to sit down?" Thranduil offered worriedly. It would be troubled if he pushed her beyond the limit. But Erynlith only shook her head, her grip on his hand and shoulder tightening. Reluctantly, he nodded and slowed his pace even more, making sure his novice of a partner could catch up with him. He placed his chin above her head; he was about a head taller than she was. "You really are a tenderfoot, aren't you?"

Erynlith smiled. "I don't dance remember. It makes my feet numb, tra-la-lo."

When the music faded, Thranduil immediately settled Erynlith on a bench and offered her water. Well, he initially offered her wine but she refused. They sat on the bench, and the elf prince waited patiently until his partner relaxed. The goblet was set aside, but they did not return to the courtyard right away.

"Why did you come?" She tilted her head curiously.

Thranduil blinked at her. "Well, I was not informed that you left Greenwood. I felt rather irritated by that."

But it was not all. He was too exhausted by the time he learned of their departure. His exhaustion turned into annoyance, and then turned into recklessness. By the time he realized he was traveling to Lórinand, he knew it was his pride that drove him further. He was already halfway in reaching Lórinand, and he could not return to Greenwood empty-handed. His father would think of him as ridiculous for acting on impulse, and it happened too fast. Thranduil would never swallow his pride.

"But you're missing _Aduial en Meleth_ in Greenwood," Erynlith said. She imagined what it would be like in celebrating in Greenwood, with all the Silvan folk. She tried to imagine what kinds of songs would be sung by the minstrels, the foods served on the tables, and many more. "I think I'd like to spend the night in Greenwood instead."

He smiled. "Then, you can celebrate it with me next year, little one."

* * *

**Next Chapter:** No romantic celebration goes unscathed without a little late night trouble with the enemies.

**Author's Notes:** Ha, another late update. I am so sorry! After a long time of waiting, here's Thranduil dropping the bass in the party, using his sass to dance. Even I don't know if Erynlith is impressed or what. Anyway, thank you for reading the chapter and stay tuned for the next one. I'll try me best to update as soon as possible. Reviews are always appreciated! Thank you again! :)

***DeLacus** \- Hooray for the references! Yes, I do like to think that Thranduil knew the sexy, awesome, and greatest-archer-that-ever-lived Beleg when he was young, since both lived in Doriath. Imagine cutie little Legolas getting pumped up about hearing Beleg's awesomeness from his ada. (º﹃º) *drooling*

Another hooray for Raithon! *throws confetti* Sassy captain for the sassy Prince of Greenwood!

***Rousdower** \- Erynlith and Nimrodel in a catfight would look good. LOL. I can already see Amroth moping about it afterwards. XD

***xSiriuslyPadfoot** \- Good to see you back here! Yes, I will start on the Haldir/Oc sooner or later. I already have the plot and characterizations in mind, but I am yet to start on the first draft. LOL. Thanks for the review!

***Oriana5** \- I'm glad you enjoy the story! I hope you stay with me in this story. :D And thank you for stopping by!


	14. Late Night Invasion

**Chapter 14**

_**Late Night Invasion**_

* * *

When Thranduil was certain that Erynlith was feeling well and ready to continue with the night's festivities, he took the empty wine cup and led her back. The bench they occupied was away from the upbeat courtyard, and would most likely take a few moments to arrive there. And their pace was slow, as though Erynlith did really not want to return. They did not talk anymore, just a few exchanges of glances and a few nods. He was more than satisfied that they understood each other that way. _Aduial en Meleth_ was celebrated before the first fall of snow, and sooner or later, winter would be upon them. He shivered under his thick silver brocade, but he knew his companion was chilled down to her bones with her thin satin dress.

"Are you alright?" he voiced out, suddenly concerned. But Erynlith only shook her head slightly, and then smiled at him. It felt different to have her smiling at him, rather than her usual strange quirks and huffs.

The courtyard was still not on sight when suddenly, Erynlith flinched and looked up. Her grey eyes wandered about, probing the trees up ahead. She stood frozen from where she was, arms about her shoulder as she tried to warm herself from the chilly evening. And as she halted, Thranduil momentarily stopped with her, few paces ahead of her, and he turned back with a look of question in his eyes.

"Is everything alright?" He felt ridiculous for asking her the same question as before. When she did not answer, he sighed and approached her. Her eyes were still darting around the forest, and Thranduil could see the wariness despite the darkness. He cupped her cheek and pulled her gaze to him. "Erynlith?"

She grabbed his arm. "Do you hear that?"

He stared at her curiously. "Hear what?"

Again, she looked startled. "That!" she insisted; her hand on his arm was now shaking.

Thranduil shook his head in defeat. "What are you even talking about?"

Just then, hooves thundered above them. Both elves looked up, with the elf prince narrowing his eyes as he looked at the mountain side beyond the forest. The Misty Mountains loomed east of Lórinand, and many fell creatures attacked the dwarves who lived there. The raging footsteps pressed on, metal clashing against metal. Howls and roars echoed, and he knew these would reach the borders of the forest in no time.

"Run," Thranduil whispered, but she did not hear. Both were too frozen to move. Not long after, the first line of Orcs appeared into his view, and he quickly grabbed her right wrist. Erynlith winced at that; the pain from her wound lingered there. Before she knew it, she was running frantically with Thranduil, and the elf prince was cursing in Elvish.

* * *

As they arrived in the courtyard, they found the elves huddled closely together. Fear was written on their faces. Amroth emerged from the crowd, followed by the marchwardens. He was equipped with his bow and sword, and he tossed one slender bow to Thranduil. Behind Amroth, Erestor and Caladhir followed, and Thranduil watched in dismay as Erynlith snatched her arm away from his grip.

"Where do you think you're going?" she demanded to the battle-ready Erestor. His dark hair was pulled back and his armor was silver. It was the same that he wore when they were assaulted in the High Pass. The daunted breastplate and still-bloody pauldron were unmistakable.

Erestor looked down at her, his eyes cold and stern. "Stay here where others can keep an eye on you. I'll be right back." And he pushed her gently out of his way, and was followed by Caladhir.

Erynlith grabbed Caladhir and forced him to look at her. "And you? You're coming, too? After a week of being injured, you will still fight. Are you serious?"

"If it means protecting our people," Caladhir said, taking her hand away from his shoulder, "then I will whatever it would take. My life is hardly a matter now. But if I live this night, I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow, Eryn." He offered her a weak smile and continued to follow his dark captain.

Everyone was gathered now. Even the King was prepared for battle. Horses were mustered, the armory was broken open and weapons were distributed to each willing fighter. Even those who were incapable of fighting were given bows. The elf-maidens were ushered back into their houses, in fear that they would lose their loved ones in tonight's battle. And Erynlith was the one left behind, watching silently as more marchwardens emerged to gather in the King's yard. Lieutenants gave away their reports, and they planned on ambushing the orcs before they could cross the river.

"Get in line!" Amroth shouted when some of the inexperienced wardens went off. "I said _get in line_, and wait for your orders!"

When the wardens did what they were told, Amroth ran past Erynlith. Her eyes followed his trail, and she realized that Nimrodel was also there, watching the small army of elves. And Amroth approached her, whispered something in her ear, and leaned down to kiss her. It was a sight familiar to Erynlith, and she was not bothered at all. Sooner or later, Amroth had to propose to Nimrodel, even though she and the lady were in not-so-good terms. Amroth then embraced Nimrodel and was about to run past Erynlith again when he had finally noticed her.

"Eryn!" he said in amazement. He quickly grabbed her and pulled her away from the scene. "What are you still doing here? Go back in your chambers and don't leave it until I say otherwise. Now, go!" He literally pushed her away and printed back towards his marchwardens.

She huffed and followed him. But she did not approach Amroth; it was Erestor whom she grabbed by the arm and glared at him profusely. And he did not complain. How could he? For all he knew, this was the girl he raised for a hundred years, taught things he knew, and that he had always felt responsible to her, and she to him. He acknowledged her worry for him, especially right after their incident some weeks ago, but he just _had_ to do this.

Erestor patted her head instead, not wanting to crush her with his armor. Then, he pulled out a bow and a quiver. "Stay here for me," he said and glanced back at the impatient marchwardens. Even Amroth and Amdír looked restless now. "Should anything happen, you know what to do."

"Really?" Erynlith scoffed, snatching the bow and quiver a little too forceful. "And what would you have me do? Warm the bed until you return?" She sounded sullen and hurt.

He quickly felt sorry for her and embraced her. "No, Eryn. I would never let you do that. You are more than just an elf to be left in the house, doing chores. You are capable of doing more things. And I am leaving you in charge of the keep. If anything happens, you can handle yourself, yes?"

"But Erestor—"

"I can leave you here and return that you are safe, yes?" he insisted. She nodded. "Good," he said and kissed her forehead swiftly. "I must go. Keep safe."

Erynlith pulled his gauntlet and he turned to her again. "If it's not too much to ask, please watch over Amroth. You know how reckless that silly elf prince can be."

He nodded and smirked mischievously. "Of course. What about Thranduil? Want me to watch over him too?"

She blinked, startled at that question. Her eyes wandered past Erestor's shoulder and found Thranduil. One of the wardens offered him a change of clothes, his silver brocade now turned into light hunter's garb, with brown leather vambraces. His silver circlet was discarded as well. When her eyes returned to Erestor, they softened, and she nodded sincerely.

"Yes, please," she answered quietly.

And with that, Erestor was off with his companions. The horn sounded, and they rode out and disappeared into the darkness. Erynlith sighed deeply and clutched the bow and quiver tighter, unsure of what to make of them. Considering the might of the elves of Lórinand, with Erestor, Caladhir and Thranduil, they could win easily. And she saw Nimrodel wistfully sitting on the staircase, hands clasped together as if in prayer. The other elf-maidens were now safely in their homes, and two were left to await the rest of the night's fate.

* * *

Thranduil mustered his horse closer to follow King Amdír's trail. One of the elves bore the green banner of the King, while one held the horn. The small resisting company of elves rode hard and followed the course of River Celebrant, and it was not long until they reached the point where two rivers intersected. The river that cascaded from the Misty Mountains and flowed through Lórinand was Celebrant, and the smaller river that intersected it was called by the locals Nimrodel. The elf-maiden Nimrodel had always spent her time there, lived there, and thus, it was usually referred as that. The marchwarden's outpost was adjacent to the intersection, high above the trees, which overlooked the whole forest and some areas near the Dwarves' Mirrormere. All this Amroth educated Thranduil, well-aware that one should be knowledgeable about the place before a battle ensued. The Prince of Greenwood mentally noted to himself that he should make a map out of it sometime.

Then, they halted. Bows are drawn in all directions, usually in front of the pathway, and the elves listened. The bubbling sounds of the river were interrupted with vicious strides of the incoming enemies. And as they waited, King Amdír rounded up his best archers and placed them in front. More were positioned near the banks of the river, while those with less experience were behind. Being Prince, Thranduil had the opportunity to stand beside the King and his son, and with Erestor and his friend Caladhir.

The footsteps thundered once more and headed towards them.

Amroth eagerly notched an arrow. He was light on his feet, and he bounced from his spot. "We're born ready for this! Let me at them!"

And Thranduil raised an eyebrow at this eagerness. It was the side of the humble Amroth that he did not know. Beside him, Erestor drew out his slender sword, and Thranduil watched in awe. Erestor was the well-equipped fighter in the group, with the exception of the King himself. All others wore simple tunics and trousers and boots, while the captain had full armor.

Suddenly, the footsteps stopped. King Amdír looked up attentively and curiously, wondering why the enemies had stopped with their assault. Had they noticed the elves? He gritted his teeth and dismounted his horse. He whispered something to his lead marchwarden. With a nod, the pale-haired warden signaled his companions, and arrows were fired. In the darkness, cries of agony echoed. This alerted the elves more, and with another command, arrows were fired. The elves relentlessly fired, hoping that the enemies would return whence they came. But the orcs did not forsake their position in the darkness. They stood still, but the elves knew well they were still there. King Amdír grew impatient, and sent some of his wardens towards the other party. And as the elves grew closer, the orcs pounced on them and were done with them in no time. Poison-tipped arrows from the orcs were released, and those who stood on the front took the damage.

Seeing their companions fell, Amroth gave a loud command and the warden followed him, openly rushing towards the pack of enemies. Thranduil watched in horror as they did, leaving him quite dazed from where he stood. And he realized that Erestor was still standing beside him, not charging as Amroth had commanded. The captain's eyes were observant, narrowing as they adjusted into the darkness.

"What are you doing?!" Caladhir shouted at Erestor's face, none too pleased for seeing his captain so passive in such an assault. "They are crossing the river! They have thrashed the marchwarden's outpost. And the King and Prince Amroth are leading them. Let's go now!" He did not wait for Erestor to answer. Caladhir followed Amroth, and with his sword from Rivendell, had felled many orcs with it.

With a heavy sigh, Erestor plunged on, and followed by Thranduil.

The battle between the rivers commenced all night, with orcs at the seeming disadvantage. When they had seen their number grow less, the pack split into three groups: one would keep the fighting going on in the rivers, while the other two would circle round the fight and proceed further into the forest. The plan seemed rather simple for such simple-minded creatures, but they saw promise of escape on that one. Their leader, an orc with his tunic adorned with red quills, roared and kept the fight extending until his other two troops were successfully inside the forest.

With all the fighting going around him, Thranduil's mind was plagued on how he wished Raithon was there with him.

And the elves of Lórinand were too engaged into fighting that they had not noticed the splitting groups. Two had circled around them, one on the left and on the other was right, and when they had reached the other side of the river, the orcs had regrouped themselves and advanced into the forest. These creatures congratulated themselves for the job well-done, and they ran under the trees like gleeful children playing under the moonlight.

Erestor's eyes widened. He was fighting an orc himself, too tall for his build, and the orc's strength was great as his height. And as his hewed the orc by his back, Erestor turned around and saw the advancing orc pack in the forest. He tried to cry out to his companions, but the same orc he thought he had killed grabbed him by the neck and lifted him off his feet.

"You blasted elf!" the orc sneered at him, blood trickling down to his chin. Erestor winced, the pain on his throat was too painful to be true, and his strength was failing him as the grip became tighter. His eyes moved once again to the orc pack; now they almost faded into the darkness. "Let me make this easier for you…" The orc raised his axe and placed it behind Erestor's head, pressing the blade on his nape. "Any last words, elf?"

"You are a mistake of nature," Erestor breathed from his aching throat.

The orc laughed harshly. "And you are a fool!"

As the blade was about to hit, Erestor's sword was picked up from the ground and driven onto the orc's broad chest. The orc wavered and gagged, cursing. He dropped Erestor on the ground, and he gasped desperately for air, gently soothing his throat. He looked up and saw Thranduil driving his sword home to the orc's chest, twisting it ever so slowly to make the death more painful. Blood tainted his tunic and breeches, but Thranduil did not care anymore. Even his cheek was disgraced with the shameful blood. The orc fell dead before it reached the ground, thumping loudly and lifelessly beside Erestor.

"Erestor!" Thranduil called out and knelt beside the captain. He helped him onto his feet and handed the sword back. "You're not hurt, are you?"

Erestor shook his head, his vision getting blurry from the pain. "Orcs… orcs are running through the forest… They are heading to the fortress. Let's go now. They cannot reach the keep; Nimrodel and Erynlith are waiting there."

Hearing that, Thranduil's eyes widened. He whistled for his own horse, and then called Amroth to tell him what had happened. Soon enough, the three of them were riding hard back towards the keep. And they had left without telling anyone. Erestor sat silently behind Thranduil, one hand supporting his weight so that he may not fall. And he continued to observe the two Sindarin princes. He knew Amroth was anxious about Nimrodel, of her safety. But what of Thranduil? Why was Thranduil so desperate to return to the keep anyway? For whom was he fighting?

Erestor only wished that it was not Erynlith.

* * *

"_Oh, what is happening?_

_Erestor has left me."_

Erynlith occupied herself by stroking the harp absent-mindedly. It had been a while since the army set out, and she was becoming restless. She sat on the other side of the courtyard, leaning against a tree. Beside her was the bow and quiver Erestor had left her with, and those were of not much use. Parallel to where she sat was Nimrodel whose eyes were glued to the direction where she had last seen Amroth. The two elves had not spoken to each other since their departure, and they didn't even talk much to each other in the first place.

Nimrodel always regarded Erynlith and Erestor as one of the elves who brought wars to Middle-earth, to her peaceful home. Her people accepted Amdír, Amroth, and the King's younger sister, and she eventually came to respect them. But Erestor's usual visits with Erynlith were either safe or dangerous. Often they would be followed by the enemies. And Nimrodel never liked that. She had been hostile to both of them since then, but she had come to somehow respect Erestor. She knew well that he was an honorable captain in his place. And so, her hostility turned more to Erynlith. Nimrodel refused to speak to her beloved's cousin, even though Erynlith had once tried using Sindarin. But Nimrodel was prideful and would not disown her native language.

She became restless and abruptly stood up from her seat, startling Erynlith. She began to leave the courtyard and follow the trail of the fighting army. Instantly, Erynlith stood up as well, grabbing the bow and quiver.

"Where are you going?" she asked, although she knew Nimrodel would not understand. But she continued anyway. "Amroth said to stay here. Please, return to your seat. They will be back soon."

And as always, Nimrodel ignored her. It was quite the lady's habit to ignore her. Erynlith rolled her eyes and scoffed at Nimrodel's stubbornness. It would be better to force her back to her seat, wouldn't it? She might even attempt to tie Nimrodel on place. As she followed her, and now they were in the forest, Nimrodel suddenly stopped. Erynlith did as well, and she could hear strides coming towards them. Slowly, Nimrodel retreated behind her, and the massive orc pack appeared in front of them. Erynlith gasped and notched an arrow, aiming on one orc and releasing it. But it was useless against the raging incoming orcs.

"Run," she whispered over to Nimrodel. Fear crept in her veins, and she felt pain in her right wrist where the poisoned arrowhead had been. Nimrodel did not move; she was too overwhelmed with the approaching enemies. Erynlith could not blame her, but it was all two elves could do against the pack of orcs. "Run!" she said more forcefully.

Much to her surprise, Nimrodel nodded and pulled her by the wrist. That sudden gesture of concern warmed Erynlith in amidst of such a cold and dark evening.

_Aduial en Meleth_ was different this year.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** Girl power of Erynlith and Nimrodel take the spotlight!

**Author's Notes:** Another fighting chapter by yours truly, since I can't keep my hands from writing battle-filled chapters. The next one will involve even more fighting, and maybe some Elvish blood. Eww. So, before we shed Elvish blood, enjoy this one first. Hope you don't mind the fighting. LOL. Thank you for reading and keep the reviews coming. Have a nice day!

***xSiriuslyPadfoot** \- Yes, I do think there will be some Thranduil jealousy in the future chapters, but not very soon. LOL. Wait 'til someone gets into the picture and we have an extremely Thranduil jealousy coming up! ;)

***Oriana5** \- Yup, the dance was pretty smooth, much to Thranduil's favour. Haha!

***DeLacus** \- More Erestor and Erynlith things for you! LOL. Big brother Erestor/Rivendell Captain goes into action again!

***Rousdower** \- LOL. I like Smirkwood! I'll keep that in mind from now on!


	15. Friendship Bound by Courage

**Chapter 15**

_**Friendship Bound by Courage**_

* * *

Erynlith did not try to ask for help anymore. All that were left in the city were the elf-maidens. She could not bring it to herself to ask them to fight. It would be too dangerous. And Nimrodel was clinging on her arm, too scared to pull away. The courtyard was wide and well-lit, and they could hide for the rest of the night. But she could not do that either. The Orcs might ransack the palace and take the elf-maidens away. It was the moment Erestor prepared her for: to defend the fortress while they were away.

Too panicked to even speak, Erynlith muttered something to Nimrodel in Elvish, and hoped that she was understood. Nimrodel nodded and went in hiding, her blue eyes glancing back to the younger elf. Erynlith bit her lip, cursing herself for not knowing what to do, and she wished she was back in Rivendell, curled up on Erestor's lap as he read a boring story from one of his dusty books. The Orcs were getting nearer by the second, and Erynlith was still cursing herself.

In no time, they arrived, panting and disheveled from the earlier skirmish. But their ragged pants turned into sly smirks at the sight of a lonely elf standing against them. The bow she had was slender and almost easy to break; the quiver was strapped around her waist. The orcs laughed at her dress, that blue satin dress, and her umber hair combed back neatly.

"Here, kitty, kitty…" the orcs crooned at her.

Erynlith clenched her jaw and notched another arrow, aiming for the bastard who called her _kitty_. And before he could take another step closer, the arrow was released and orc stumbled backwards, only to be caught by his companions. The orcs watched in dismay as their companion gagged for air and died. They roared ferociously and charged all at once, much to Erynlith's fear. Shaky hands reached out for another arrow, but an orc had already gotten hold of her hair. He forced her onto the ground, face hitting the hard marbled floor, and she winced as she felt blood tickling from her nose. Another orc appeared beside her and kicked her across the stomach, sending thousand waves of stinging pain.

As the torture continued, Nimrodel covered her mouth to keep herself from screaming and crying. It was already too much for her to see a fellow elf being treated like an animal, and Erynlith's quiet whimpers moved her. And at that last cry, something flared within Nimrodel, and she sprinted out from her hiding place, grabbed one of the golden harps on the table, and bashed a nearby orc with it. The harp was quickly discarded by the same orc, and he snatched her by the throat.

"Look what we have here…" the orc said proudly at his companions. "Another elf-maiden, I see… and quite more beautiful than the dark one." The orc twirled a lock of Nimrodel's golden tresses, and she looked at him with disgust. She spat something to him in Elvish, a curse no doubt, and he laughed mockingly. "Both are very feisty! Should we keep them?"

The orc who held Erynlith down shook his head. "I suggest we take that one instead. The one I have here is more spirited and dangerous. She killed one of us."

Under him, Erynlith thrashed in protest, only to have her face slammed down against the floor again. Her forehead throbbed from the force, and blood was coughed out. The orcs laughed at her and held her hands tighter. She winced at the pain in her right wrist.

"Then, we'll keep this one," said the other orc, admiring Nimrodel's eyes. She could barely breathe now; the grip on her throat was tight and demanding. Her heart hammered inside her chest, and she glanced apologetically at Erynlith's state. The orc began to bind her hands and feet, and then slung her above his shoulder. She dangled upside-down like a prized reward from a successful hunt, and she wished Amroth was there to save her.

Nimrodel heard Erynlith protesting under her captor, and watched as she kicked her legs and shouted incoherent Elvish. Nimrodel nodded and mimicked the younger elf, trying to kick her legs as well. But the orc was dauntless and stronger; he slapped Nimrodel across the cheek, and thereafter, she fell silent.

"Make sure the dark one doesn't escape," said another orc as they followed the one who took Nimrodel. "She'd be trouble for us."

Erynlith glared at her captor, and she was slammed on the floor again. Her vision became blurry and the voices of the orcs faded. All she could hear was Nimrodel's pleads and shouts. Erynlith groggily sat up, shaking her head, and she realized a blood has trickled from her forehead. But she ignored it, and grabbed her bow and the remaining arrows from the small quiver. She ran after the pack of orcs who had Nimrodel. She stumbled from tree to tree, like someone in a drunken stupor, and her head felt light.

"Nimrodel…"

She knew the Orcs passed the Field of Celebrant and were now escaping through following the course of River Anduin. It was a relief they did not try to cross the wooden bridge which connected Lórinand to Greenwood. Perhaps these orcs already knew better not to mess with the Woodland Elves. It was already midnight, and the early breeze of winter made her shiver under her dress. It was torn from the previous struggles, and now even smeared with her blood. The orc pack traveled rather slowly, and she could still hear Nimrodel shouting and protesting against her captor.

At last, Erynlith saw the last orc running behind the group. She took one arrow and notched it. She cursed her failing sight and throbbing head. When the arrow was released, she could not see if it had pierced the target. The cries on pain confirmed that for her. Feeling more confident now, and with her distance, she could freely release the arrows until they went fewer in number. But the temporary orc leader who had Nimrodel sent some of his underlings to deal with Erynlith. They ran towards her, axes raised above their heads, as they roared a battle cry. The advantage of bows and arrows dominated this fight, and Erynlith had been done with them too soon. Then, she realized that the underlings were only a distraction, and the main pack had advanced further.

"Oh, you are kidding me," Erynlith grumbled and tore off the skirt of her dress. She cursed again when it was torn shorter than she had expected, but there was no turning back now. Nimrodel needed her help.

The chase continued the whole night. Eventually, another forest loomed to her sight. Fangorn Forest came into view, and she was more than unwilling to enter that forest.

Gildor had told her stories about mysterious creatures living in that place, and he told her that they were even older than the elves. When she had recently lost her parents, Gildor tried to help by telling scary stories about Fangorn. Before he could continue with his story, Erestor had whisked the golden-haired Ñoldo away, not very pleased that he was telling his daughter such nonsense. That same night she entered Erestor's chambers and asked him more about the creatures Gildor talked about. Erestor assured her that these creatures were no harm to anyone, and that they were secluded kind of people. _People_, Erynlith has pondered back then. She was sure what Gildor implied that these were not people, not even Elves.

She was caught off-guard when an arrow was shot at her. She flinched and thanked her luck for not being pierced by it. Nimrodel's cries still echoed as they reached the border of the Fangorn Forest. Erynlith saw the orc pack hesitating, clearly aware of the unearthly and strange atmosphere that unexplored forest gave away. For a moment, the orcs decided to circle the forest, as they had once during the fight in the river at Lórinand, but Erynlith was too close for them to flee. She took one of her arrows and aimed specifically for Nimrodel's captor. She missed, being able to hit another orc instead. With that, the leader growled and tossed Nimrodel to the ground.

"Give me that dark one's head!" he growled menacingly.

His underlings quickly charged towards Erynllith, and she reached out for more arrows. All she needed was Nimrodel to escape, but it seemed unlikely now. Without any other choice, she spent all the five remaining arrows on the approaching orcs, leaving none to save Nimrodel with. She clutched the slender bow tightly, ready to stand her ground, but she could not think of anything to save herself and Nimrodel.

Nimrodel thrashed silently behind her captor; he was too enthralled to see the decapitating of the dark elf. Slowly, the terrible ropes around Nimrodel's hands were shaken off, and she unbound her feet carefully. She was shaking as she watched her captor sneering in delight, watching the struggles of Erynlith from afar. Nimrodel planned on blending into the forest, but she could not leave Erynlith fighting on her own. Then, she noticed the small knife behind the waist of the orc leader, a knife red with blood. Nimrodel did not want to taint her hand with such a foul weapon, but what choice did she have? Hastily, she grabbed the knife from the orc. Before he was able to turn, Nimrodel had pierced the orc on his neck; the knife's blade piercing through his flesh and lungs.

At his cry, the orcs who attacked Erynlith paused, and turned back to see what Nimrodel had done. For a moment there, Erynlith was relieved. Not only was Nimrodel safe, but she had saved herself from her captor. Erynlith had always thought of Nimrodel as one of the dainty elf-maidens, too concerned about how her hair was braided or how her nails looked. And she was always so hostile that Erynlith did not try looking at her on a positive scale. Now that they both fought to save each other, there was a bond that both elves could not place. Friendship bound by courage, perhaps?

From the Fangorn Forest, there came a long and terrifying howl. Erynlith thought it was more terrifying than the orcs had emitted that night. Hearing that, the orcs tried to flee in terror, not caring about their quest anymore. They rushed towards the plain and crossed the river nearby. Some drowned; their cries were engulfed by the raging waters of Anduin.

Nimrodel sighed in relief and ran towards Erynlith. The dark elf collapsed on the ground; her knees were weakened from all the fighting. Nimrodel knelt beside her, and whispered something in her Silvan dialect which Erynlith did not know. But she smiled and nodded, pretending that she understood. Carefully, Nimrodel pulled her beside the river where the orcs had gone and suggested to dip her feet onto the cold water to wash away her weariness.

Soon, both elves were enjoying the river, and the cold night was waning. They knew they had to travel back to Lórinand sometime soon, but Erynlith was too exhausted to even move herself. And Nimrodel helped to pass the time by speaking so endlessly. Erynlith did not have any idea that she could speak continuously. However, she did not understand a word Nimrodel was telling her.

It all sounded gibberish to her. Something like:

XX ààX-Thank-òòXLX çç-for-##à+ú0-saving- #èú#eX-me-XòòLXç

Thankfully, she understood some parts. Perhaps Silvan and Sindarin were not so different at all. She replied her welcome, and even complimented Nimrodel on being so brave. She earned a little modest laugh from the other lady, and she knew the rest of the night would go well.

* * *

Thranduil's heart pounded in his chest. The very sight of the beautiful courtyard was not disrespected and violated. The long table was thrown aside, its goods splattered carelessly on the floor. No one was around, and he worried of what might have happened. His eyes continued to wander until it fell on the broken gold harp, the same harp Erynlith played only a few hours ago. It was daunted and the strings were broken. He gritted his teeth and went out in search for her. Amroth and Erestor were calling Erynlith and Nimrodel by their names, with all their might, but none answered.

Thranduil walked up to them and noticed an unfamiliar crimson on the corner of the courtyard. He knelt and curled his fist. He was angry beyond words now. "We have to find them," he said sternly. "They are not in the forest anymore. They must have been taken."

Erestor also noticed the blood. "I just hope this doesn't belong to any of them…"

Amroth mounted his horse and left without a word. Thranduil followed him, and pleaded Erestor to stay there as they went to search for the two ladies. The captain protested, arguing that his sister could be lost somewhere, and he was not going to sit and wait. But Thranduil only shook his head and rode off. In a few moments, King Amdír and his marchwardens arrived, and saw a disheartened Erestor standing beside a pool of blood.

* * *

Dawn was breaking, and Erynlith and Nimrodel spent the peaceful night beside the river. They felt more refreshed, and Erynlith was more than ready to travel back. She knew her way back to Lórinand, having been one of Gildor's travelling companions for almost two centuries. And she prided herself for her unfailing sense of direction, something she had always boasted to Erestor whenever they traveled and he ended making them lost in the woods.

With an urge from Nimrodel, Erynlith got up and began to walk away with her; the bow and empty quiver were still in her person. Her head throbbed from last night's troubles, but she was relieved that no blood exuded from it anymore. Nimrodel was anxious to return home, home to Amroth, and tell him her most exquisite experience with his cousin. There was much to tell him, and she missed him greatly. The golden-haired Nando asked if Erynlith missed someone from the forest, other than King Amdír and Amroth; and Erynlith answered Erestor, an answer too obvious for Nimrodel. She goaded the younger elf to give out another name, and when the she looked confused, Nimrodel laughed like a child.

"Thranduil," Nimrodel pressed, the name leaving a strange taste in her mouth. Erynlith still failed to grasp her meaning. "Do you not like to see him?"

If it wasn't for her unexpected question, Erynlith might have congratulated Nimrodel for speaking good Westron. Instead, she flinched and quickly shook her head.

"No. Do you even hear yourself? I just want to go home and rest. I can't feel my legs…" she whined, and Nimrodel laughed good-naturedly. Again, she spoke quickly in her native tongue, and Erynlith was too slow to understand it.

The Sun had risen, and the two elves continued on their journey home. They did not stop for a rest, and no one even suggested it. They had one goal in common, and that was home.

"I pick the worst walking holidays…" Erynlith muttered to herself. "I am so done."

Suddenly, Nimrodel halted and Erynlith was forced as well. The former was pointing a finger across the horizon, whispering something in Silvan, and she began waving her arms eagerly. She was smiling, and Erynlith thought her cousin's beloved was delusional. Soon enough, she heard galloping of horses. Her attention turned to where Nimrodel was calling out, and two horses finally came into their view. One was bay and the other was white; two very familiar horses. Then, the golden-haired riders could be seen, riding as hard and as fast as they could.

Amroth reached them first, jumping off his horse before it even stopped. He opened his arms for Nimrodel, and he kissed her face all over, thanking the Valar that she was unharmed. Erynlith smiled at the warm scene unfolding in front of her that she had not noticed Thranduil approaching her. He led his favorite white horse by the reins, and suddenly dropped it. He was staring at her, that piercing icy gaze that sometimes annoyed her. But she could only stare back.

"I get it, I look terrible, tra-la-lay," Erynlith sang to ease the tension. Then, she realized that Thranduil was not in his usual gaming mood, and so she clamped her mouth shut, mentally cursing herself for saying such a thing. She didn't even know if he was angry or what; he was only staring at her silently and curiously. Finally, she sighed in defeat and turned away from him. She watched Amroth as he embraced Nimrodel tightly again.

Erynlith's eyes from the couple were torn when Thranduil pulled her chin, forcing him to look at him instead. She complied, too surprised to even protest. His eyes were now concerned, and as he ran his thumb across her bruised cheek. She had washed her face the night before, and so the trail of blood was gone. As she flinched from his touch, Thranduil's eyes softened.

"You _do_ look terrible, little one," he said softly and pulled her towards him. It was a gentle embrace, nothing romantic, and Erynlith knew it was a product of worry. She understood that feeling and let herself melt into his warm body, her face buried on the crook of his neck. She sighed in relief and felt more comfortable since the invasion last night. She felt Thranduil twirling a lock of her umber hair, and she laughed quietly. "You've been very naughty, little one… running across field without other's permission."

She smiled against his neck. "Trouble brewed last night, remember?"

"Oh, I remember," Thranduil said and pulled away, looking into her eyes. "Let's get you back to the forest, and get you freshened up. You are a great mess. And I am afraid you'll spend more time in the infirmary again."

"But I don't want to…" She whined again as he led her to his horse.

Amroth had borrowed Erynlith away from Thranduil for a moment, embracing his cousin and thanking her for saving Nimrodel. Then, when four of them were ready, their small group traveled back to Lórinand. With her exhaustion, Erynlith had fallen asleep in front of Thranduil; her head leaned against his right shoulder. He looked down at her and saw how peaceful her face was. It reminded her of the first time they met, when he carried an injured Erynlith into the forest, and her head leaned on his shoulder back then. At that memory, he smiled and carefully planted a quick kiss on her forehead, most relieved that she had returned safe to him.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** Everybody decides to go home, but which home does Erynlith choose?

**Author's Notes:** Finally, I got off my lazy week streak! Here's another late update! LOL. Aaand the promised continuation of the fight and some Elvish blood are here! Nimrodel's not half bad either, but she needs to work on her Common Speech if she wants to get through this story -_- Ha, just kidding! Thank you for reading and hoped you like this one! Reviews are well-appreciated, as always! :D

***Oriana5** \- Thank youuu~ Action Thranduil is just the best! Can't wait to see him at the third Hobbit film!

***DeLacus** \- Some actions scenes should not hurt in a story every once in a while. It puts in a little adrenaline rush. LOL. And yes, I've always fancied dark-haired Erestor with all the silver armour and a sword in his hand! Kyaaaa~ Can't stop swooning~

But seriously, I think Erestor has a good potential of a Rivendell Captain, before might Lord Glorfindel comes into the picture, you know... ;)

***Rousdower **\- Thrandy's going this way and that in the next chapter, too! LOL.

***xSiriuslyPadfoot **\- I always thought Nimrodel was a snobber, because she was described in the books as "_unhappy with the newcomers_". But that changes after some girl power, right? :D


	16. We Leave Together

**Chapter 16**

_**We Leave Together**_

* * *

Erestor dropped his helm and quickly rushed towards the incoming princes. He was already waiting before they could halt, and he saw Thranduil assisting Erynlith in dismounting the horse. He could see the pained expression on her younger elf's face, but she smiled at Thranduil, and uttered her thanks. Just as she was about to turn to him, Erestor sprinted towards them, grabbing Erynlith out of Thranduil's reach. Both elves were surprised, and the Sindarin elf prince blinked at the captain's impulsiveness. He stood frozen as he watched the two elves reunited, and Erestor kissed Erynlith's forehead.

"I almost lost you," Erestor breathed, pressing her against him more. "I will never leave you behind again."

Erynlith laughed quietly and looked up from his armor. The steel plates were crushing her. "Wait until I tell you everything what happened. It was the best chase I've had in decades, tra-la-la…"

He began observing her, the bruise on her forehead and cheeks, some scathes on her arms, and what caught their attention most was her torn stain dress. The skirt was torn a few inches above her knees, too scandalous for her own good. When Erestor's eyes wandered lower, Erynlith blanched and clutched the remnants of her torn skirt, pulling it lower.

"I need to get out of these clothes!" she cried, trying to hide her embarrassment as her supposed brother laughed.

"Other than those bruises, you seem fine to me," Erestor said, now pulling her back into the keep. "Come. An herbal bath is waiting for you and Lady Nimrodel. Then, you'll be admitted into the infirmary for your injuries. Does anything still hurt, Eryn?"

She shook her head, smiling. "Not that I can think of, tra-la-lo."

He laughed and took her hand. "I haven't heard that in a while, tra-la-lay."

"By the way, where is Caladhir?"

That question struck Erestor like lightning, and Thranduil also heard it. The night before, Caladhir fought beside King Amdír and Amroth, holding off the orc pack bravely. Despite fighting, he was caught by an orc arrow that pierced his lungs, resulting in a quick death. Erestor narrated what happened to their friend Caladhir, who traveled all the way from Rivendell.

Erynlith frowned. "Oh, that's heartbreaking. He promised to join me for breakfast today."

"Come on now. We have to get you fixed. Lady Nimrodel will be joining you later." Erestor tried to smile. He pulled her hand again and led her back inside. He also reported that almost fifty elves were killed the same night, in the same manner as Caladhir. King Amdír's left shoulder was grazed by an arrow during the fight, and he was now resting in his chambers. Amroth, however, attended to Nimrodel's needs as Erestor did to Erynlith.

Thranduil stood in silence as he was left once more to himself, unsure of what to do. He continued to observe: the marchwardens came to and fro, some civilians gossiping about that happened, and the King's servants cleared the mess on the courtyard. His anger ignited when he saw the blood on the floor being wiped away. It ticked him off, knowing to whom that blood belonged to, and he wanted to let off some steam by killing some orcs. But the enemies were long gone when he and Amroth found the two ladies. Thranduil thought it was for the better, or he could not have sustained his anger. He sighed in defeat, contemplating what to do now. _Aduial en Meleth_ was over. He already found Erynlith and Erestor. He had nothing to do there anymore.

Winter was upon them. The Woodland Elves needed to refill their wine cellar and other necessities. They depended mostly on fruits and vegetables, and rarely fishes from the rivers. But winter was always harsh on them, and Thranduil disliked it. It made him shiver, and his teeth chatter. He would always be curled up in front of the hearth, beneath layers of blankets, with a hot cup of tea on his side. He could never leave the palace; the snow was deep and the trees were complete frozen. Even the Elven-guard usually complained about winter. It was never as enjoyable as spring or autumn, wherein the trees were at their outmost beauty.

"Maybe I should return home…" he muttered to himself, and one marchwarden came up to him and took his horse back into the stables. He didn't know where to go; he wanted to see Erynlith, ask her about what happened last night, but he knew she was resting, and Erestor would not allow anyone near her until she was fully-healed. Just thinking about that made him groan inwardly, and he sighed deeply. He would just return to his chambers and rest.

* * *

Later that afternoon, when Erynlith was done with her herbal bath and was given new clothes as compensation for her previously destroyed one, she retreated into her chambers. She was trying to avoid Erestor all day, not wanting to be admitted into the infirmary and be forced to drink the nasty medicinal tea, the same tea which Santien offered her back in Greenwood. Erynlith's chamber was adjacent to Amroth's, only a few steps away, but she secluded herself inside hers, resolved to get some rest. But just as she was lying down, a soft knock sounded on her door, and the person on the other side entered.

Nimrodel smiled at her. She had a bandage around her wrists where the ropes had grazed her skin and a patch of cloth was on her cheek. She had been injured as well, but no doubt was attended profusely by Amroth. She seemed as refreshed as Erynlith, and made herself welcome inside the room. As quickly as she entered, Nimrodel sat on a spare chair, and Erynlith felt obliged to entertain the other lady.

Nimrodel began talking in her native Silvan dialect that Erynlith could not understand. She mentally noted that she'd force Amroth or Erestor to teach her the Silvan dialect. It was too troublesome to be in someone's company who spoke a language she did not understand. And Nimrodel kept talking; Erynlith wondered if the other lady noticed that she didn't understand her. And so, Nimrodel kept talking, laughing at her own remark, and the other elf smiled awkwardly. Her long awaited rest was now gone, and she was stuck with a talkative elf. She did not even anticipate for Nimrodel for being such a talker; she was always by herself near the river, and spoke seldom to people. Perhaps she was comfortable with Erynlith enough to waltz in her room and talk.

Erynlith tried to understand, but all she could hear was:

XLXàò-Amroth-çùǿ E-wounds-ζδXZùù-herbs-¥ÄòòL¿-amazing-ŦXL ç

And with that, she smiled awkwardly again.

_Someone save me_, she whimpered.

As if on cue, another knock came on the door. Her face brightened, hoping it was Erestor. She would rather have some of those terrible medicinal teas than be in this situation. The door opened and the last person she expected entered: Thranduil. He was smiling as he entered, and Nimrodel stood up from her seat to greet him. She knew he was the Prince of Greenwood, Amroth told her, and she was not rude enough not to greet him. The two elves exchanged greetings in the Silvan dialect, and Erynlith arched her eyebrow, eyeing them curiously. Then, Nimrodel laughed softly at something Thranduil told her, and he took her hand and kissed the back of it. Nimrodel seemed drawn at that gesture, and once again she laughed softly.

And Erynlith was eavesdropping.

##ààç-Prince Thranduil-ĔLXòòΣΣ-Greenwood-ζççÄÏêê #-Lady Nimrodel-ASDFGHJKL-beautiful

ΣΣêêŦ-Pleasure-#$%àà£-meet-XLδçç ?-welcome-àà$%&amp;!ùù -Lórinand-#xoxo

Erynlith rolled her eyes and waited until their formalities were over. At last, with one last kiss on the hand, Nimrodel turned to Erynlith, bowed, and left the room. With that, Erynlith sank back into her bed and pulled the blanket to cover her head. She heard Thranduil chuckling softly as he sat on the same place where Nimrodel was.

"Since when did you and Nimrodel become best friends?" Thranduil crooned, his chin perched under his palm as his eyes were darted to her.

She pulled the covers away. "Probably last night. I really don't remember being _that_ friendly, but it is nice that she's not glaring at me anymore."

He was laughing now. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. Actually, I would be more okay if you'd allow me to rest, Prince Thranduil."

"Oh, don't get me started on that," he sighed, and suddenly, his cheery face turned somber. When he looked back into her eyes, he smiled again and laughed it off. "I just want to enjoy my last day here in Lórinand, that's all."

She looked confused and scooted closer to him. "Wait, you're leaving?!"

He nodded. "Yes. I am planning to leave before sundown. I'll probably arrive in Greenwood a few hours later."

"But why are you leaving?" That question made quirked Thranduil's brow. She sounded like a child asking her parent why they were leaving. And she was even frowning.

"Everyone is leaving," he said matter-of-factly.

"They are?"

Thranduil rolled his eyes. "Are you always this naïve? Or did it take years to practice?"

She smiled mischievously. "Hm, a little of both, tra-la. But really, why is everyone leaving? Did something happen?"

"Not really. I thought it would be better to return home. I have duties to finish in the palace, reports and the architectural design for the northern fortress remains unfinished." He sighed deeply. "Sooner or later, I have to return. And snow would fall soon. I don't want to be caught up in the deep snow when I travel back." He pursed his lips. "Also, I heard Erestor plans to return in Rivendell, too. He has been restless since your return. He has packed everything needed, and your fallen friend has been buried with the others. I think he'll move out the same time as me."

Erynlith didn't look happy. She wanted to go home so badly these last few days, wasn't she? But now, she was just not sure anymore. Part of her wanted to return to Rivendell, back to her comfortable room, to the Halls of Fire, and she had much stories to tell Gildor, and might even turn her adventures into songs and share it with Lindir. And Celebrían would be delighted to see her again. But another part wanted to stay in the forest, back in Greenwood where she had not yet explored most of its beauty. She knew there was more in Greenwood than just trees and flowers, and she wanted to learn them. The Silvan elves were friendly to her, and she wanted to make up for the trouble to King Oropher. It was the promise of freedom and of learning in Greenwood. Lóriand would have sufficed, if not for the vigilant King Amdír.

"Oh," she muttered in disappointment, avoiding his curious look on her. She fixated her eyes on her hands, and fiddled with the thin blanket. She looked at him again. "Do you want to leave?"

Thranduil blinked at her. He felt an urge to sit beside her on the bed, but decided against it. Instead, he shifted on his chair and leaned closer. "I have no choice. The forest calls me home."

"But this is home, too, isn't it?" Erynlith argued. "Lórinand is also a forest, and therefore, it is also home."

He laughed softly at her childish explanation. "Well, yes, Lórinand is also home. But I am the Prince of Greenwood. I have responsibilities to my kingdom, to my people, and most especially, to my father." When she frowned more, he cupped her cheek. "Oh, don't give me that look."

"But I wasn't!" she said in her defense, gently slapping his hand away. "I just didn't want to return to Rivendell so soon."

He leaned back on his chair, eyes glinting in amusement. "Oh? Is it possible that you want to return with me to Greenwood?"

Erynlith blanched. Thranduil was so sharp that it hurt. "Of course not," she scoffed. "What kind of sane person would want to come with you? You are haughty all the time."

And his eyebrow twitched in annoyance. "And I suppose you're not the same? Look. Whatever you think of does not matter, I am returning to Greenwood later, and you and your Erestor can go back to Rivendell. Everyone's happy now."

"Not me," Erynlith said honestly. She looked directly into his eyes, and he knew she was serious. "I really want to return to Greenwood, too. I want to see Raithon and Santien again, and all the other friendly guards. And King Oropher, and the little puppy foxes, and the bluebells, and…"

"Alright, I get it," Thranduil laughed. "If you want to come with me, all you have to do is ask." He grinned deviously at her. "Now, do it."

She failed to grasp his meaning, and blinked. "Do what?"

His grin widened. "Ask me to take you to Greenwood."

She scoffed. "Excuse _you_!"

He tried not to laugh. "I am serious. Now, little one, ask me."

"Forget it. I'd rather return to Rivendell instead." She crossed her arms.

Still, he insisted and demanded. "Ask me, or you'll never see your bluebells or little foxes again. Come on. It is an easy task; even an elfling can do it."

She groaned in defeat. "Fine. Will you take me with you to Greenwood?"

He didn't react. She groaned again. "You didn't say please," Thranduil added teasingly.

"What?! Are you kidding me?" She rolled her eyes. "I already said it and do not make me repeat myself!"

And Thranduil looked at her in amusement. She was most likely the most entertaining elf for years. He certainly enjoyed her company, her quirks and naïve mindset, but the sharpness of her tongue had always interested him. He would love to keep her around the palace during winter, especially when that was the time he was always cooped up inside. The King Oropher would want to have a chat with her. All would be good. But his problem was Erestor, only Erestor.

He smirked. "If you won't say please, then you might as well just beg me. I don't take casual elves traveling with me. And you are no different from an ordinary one. What makes you think you can travel with a prince that easily?"

Erynlith threw a pillow at him, and it hit him right on the face. "Would you stop being so narcissistic for like, what, thirty minutes? You sound so impressed about yourself. Remember that you are only a prince because your father is the king. Members of the royalty usually gain their positions through bloodline and connections, and you are _no_ different. Even Amroth is the same. Now, don't you brag your title to me, Thranduil."

He looked at her in disbelief. It was supposed to be a jest, intended for further teasing, but he knew the game was over, and Erynlith was serious about she said. Did she just imply that he didn't deserve his position as prince? It was the last thing he expected from her, from a person who barely knew him. He was insulted more than he anticipated.

Abruptly, Thranduil stood up, almost knocking off his chair in the process. He refused to look at her as he went to the doorway and slammed the door shut. He left without a word, and Erynlith knew why he was upset. And she didn't regret it. She believed it was the truth. Elves always took pride into their lineage, always finding ways to gloat it to other people: gloat about their descendant's achievements, of their valour, and basically everything that had nothing to do with the person. Who would even care if your third cousin's brother's wife's step-niece's great aunt married someone's first cousin, twice removed?

She sank back into her bed, her jaws clenched tight. What she said was an honest opinion, and she did not need to please him. But as the time passed, her stiff demeanour softened, and she realized her mistake. Not only she insulted Thranduil, but also blew her only chance of returning to Greenwood. He would never allow her to enter their place ever again. Slowly, ever so slowly, she slipped from her bed and began to pack her things.

* * *

Thranduil was ready to leave. He had said his farewell to King Amdír and Amroth, and Nimrodel was there also. Some of the marchwardens were kind enough to wish him a safe travel. He was also given few gifts to bring back for King Oropher. And as he was clothed in his usual traveling clothes, his white horse was ready to be mounted. He visited the steed inside the stables, and began fix his things on the back.

His mind wandered back to his conversation with Erynlith. He could not get over with it, and whenever he remembered exactly what she said, his anger flared again. But he was relieved that he wouldn't be able to hear from her again, now that she would return to Rivendell, and he to Greenwood. Home.

A soft knock on the wooden gates took his attention. He turned and the person he was just thinking of showed up. She was clad in her usual blue tunic and dark trousers, and a grey cloak hung about her shoulders. She was wearing a thin, awkward smile as she entered; a small pack was slung above her shoulder.

Thranduil wanted to remain dauntless. "What do you want?"

She bit her lip, not expecting that kind of a cold treatment. She stepped forward and poked her head to see what he was doing. He was adjusting the headstall of his white horse, which neighed softly.

"I wanted to know if your offer still stands, about returning with you in Greenwood…"

He paused but did not look at her.

So, Erynlith continued: "I know what I said earlier. And what I said was my honest opinion, but I did not mean to offend you, Thranduil. I have no idea how much you are upset about it, and I am worried that you will stay angry at me for a long time. And I really want to return to Greenwood with you. So, please accept my apology. It was really my mistake in the first place."

With that, she bowed low before him.

He turned to face her as she straightened herself. Her eyes moved away from his, avoiding eye contact. She felt silly for apologizing; she rarely apologized, and she often apologized if she was forced to do so. But this apology was sincere; they both knew it. Thranduil reached out for her chin and pulled her back to face him, eyes locking with each other, grey and blue.

"There is nothing to forgive," he said quietly, a smile finally creeping on his lips. "Yes, I was terribly upset, but I cannot bring it to myself to stay mad for so long. And I am happy that you want to come with me. But what about Erestor? Does he know already?"

Erynlith laughed as she went to approach her own black horse. Arcastar neighed and reared eagerly. "Yes, he does know already. I asked for his permission, and it is never easy to make him agree into things. But I have my ways to make him say yes."

Thranduil looked amused. "Really now? Maybe I should let you try and persuade me."

"When we get to Greenwood, maybe I'll try." She mounted her horse, and he followed.

The two of them mustered their horses outside the stables, and there were many elves waiting to say goodbye to them. Amroth and Nimrodel were the front liners, with the lady talking in her dialect that made Erynlith's ears hurt. Thranduil laughed and answered Nimrodel on her behalf, and Amroth said his farewells. Erestor stood behind a tree, making sure his distance was not too close, and watched them. He was about to set out for Rivendell himself, and he thought it would be hard to part ways with Erynlith if he said goodbye. Besides that, he was confident enough that Erynlith would be safe in Greenwood, with the Prince Thranduil watching over her every once in a while.

Soon, they left Lórinand and passed from the sights of the elves there. All of them waved. And the sun was setting down; in a few hours, they would reach Greenwood, and Erynlith would have to stay there for as long as she'd like. She mentally thanked Thranduil for his understanding of the situation. Unknown to both of them, it was not the devouring of pride that brought them back together, but the invisible red string of fate that connected them.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** Erynlith gets too friendly with King Oropher's counsellor, much to Thranduil's irritation.

**Author's Notes:** Have you watched the new trailer of The Hobbit: Battle of the Five Armies? It was really amazing! Watching the elves in action gets me all hyped up! And the Dol Guldur scene! ASDFGHJKDGHJ. At the same time, it made me very emotional, especially with that scene with Thorin and Kili. You know what happens to them! ◕︵◕ I won't be able to contain my feels when I watch it in the cinemas.

Moving on! Some random thing with Thrandy and Eryn, with a little mash-up with Nimrodel's weird Silvan language. Poor Eryn, but good thing there's Thrandy to the rescue! Hoped you liked this one. I'll try to update as soon as I can. School's been getting to me lately. *sigh*

***Rousdower** \- Nimrodel should work on her Westron101. Maybe Erestor offers a class or something... LOL

***xSiriuslyPadfoot** \- Yep, sorry, dear! Thrandy was out of the spotlight last chapter. I'll include more of his sass in the next chapters!

***DeLacus** \- Nim-Nim and Amroth That sounds great! And Erestor needs to be partnered up with someone!

***Oriana5** \- Thank you! There are also Eowyn and Arwen for girl power! Erynlith does follow Thranduil back to Greenwood. This should be interesting...


	17. Of Counselors and Travels

**Chapter 17**

_**Of Counselors and Travels**_

* * *

King Oropher was more than delighted to see that his son was coming home. He had been too worried the night before, having heard from Raithon about the attack in Lórinand during _Aduial en Meleth_. He was supposed to send out his Elven-guard for assistance until they realized that it was too late to do so. A warden from Lórinand reported about the return of the princes with the alleged abducted ladies, and that Thranduil would return the same day. He could not wait any longer, and so he exited his throne room to greet him. And he was surprised to see with Thranduil's companion.

Oropher watched as his son assisted Erynlith in climbing down from her grey horse; his two hands carefully placed on her waist, and then gently set her on her foot. And both elves were smiling, something Oropher thought was unusual. As Thranduil turned to him, Oropher smiled back and welcomed his son with open arms. "Welcome back, _ion nin_," he said quietly, embracing the younger elf.

Thranduil smiled against his father's maroon robes. "You knew I would be back soon."

"Oh, I do," Oropher chuckled, glancing at Erynlith who stood behind Thranduil. He smiled mischievously at his son. "What I didn't know is that you'll take a girl home…"

"What! Adar, really!" Thranduil exclaimed, suddenly embarrassed of his father's words. He worriedly looked back to Erynlith, who remained quiet. "There is time and place for that jest," he quickly told his father again.

The King laughed good-naturedly. He proceeded to welcome Erynlith back to Greenwood, noting how delighted he was to have her back, and how he was sorry of last night's tragedy. But the dark elf laughed it off and thanked the King for his greetings. King Oropher ushered them both back into the palace, calling forth many servants to attend to their needs. Erynlith was led to her own bedroom, a spacious carpeted room, with a four-posted bed covered in green blankets. There were bedside lamps and painting on the walls, and a small hearth sat on the middle of the room. It was simple yet beautiful, and quite modest. The window overlooked the forest up ahead.

"Woah," Erynlith breathed out, examining her temporary room. "It's more beautiful than what I have in Rivendell." She also examined the paintings, some depicted forest views, and others depicted merry-making elves.

Thranduil smiled. "You'll have to get used on this one. And before I forget, I want you to meet someone."

Erynlith turned to see who it was. A dark-haired Silvan appeared on the doorway and bowed politely at Thranduil. She wore a long brown dress and dark boots. Then, the Silvan turned to Erynlith and introduced herself. "Good evening, my lady. I am called Amardís, and I will be your attendant," the girl said politely and bowed again.

"You're _what_?" Erynlith looked at Thranduil for answer.

The elf prince sighed. "Amardís will be your attendant for as long as you stay here. And there is no turning back, little one. The King said so himself so deal with it."

"What? No!" Erynlith argued. "In Rivendell, I don't have any attendants. What makes you think I should have one here in Greenwood?"

"Oh, for the love of Eru." Thranduil groaned. "Can't you just accept things and say nothing else about it?" He opened the door in an attempt to leave. "Oh, and by the way, you're invited for tonight's dinner. All of the King's counselors will be there. Amardís will help you prepare. I'll see you later at dinner." He gave her a smirk, and then left.

Erynlith gaped at Amardís. "Is that true? There will be a big dinner tonight?"

"Yes, my lady," the Silvan girl answered. "We have more than an hour to prepare. Now, please have a seat and let me fix your hair, my lady."

And Erynlith did what she was told, awkwardly settling herself on a wooden chair, her back turned against the Silvan attendant. Amardís began to comb the umber hair, wild with the previous journey. A few moments later, two more attendants entered the room and offered help. They said it was Thranduil who requested for their assistance, and they should be done soon. The King's counselors would be gathering in the grand banquet halls any time soon. As Amardís took care of Erynlith's hair, and later pulled out a green dress and a corset. At the sight of the latter, Erynlith's eyes widened.

"Wait, what is _that_ for?" she asked incredulously, pointing a shaky finger on the corset. She knew what it was, but never tried it on. She saw it once on Celebrían and witnessed how incredibly difficult it was. Erynlith gulped when a Silvan attendant only smiled at her.

"This will make your dress fit better, my lady," Amardís answered, already sizing up the thing on Erynlith's waist.

"You cannot make me wear that."

But it was too late. In the minutes that followed, Erynlith was ready to attend a big dinner, and she didn't even know why she was invited in the first place. What did she even have to do with the King's counselors? Oropher would have wanted to introduce her more formally, as she spent her first weeks in Greenwood in the infirmary with Erestor and Caladhir. When the attendant, now her friends was satisfied by the way she looked, Amardís offered to lead Erynlith to the banquet halls. And Erynltih accepted, not wanting to enter such a grand place by herself. It would be too awkward.

"Remember to breathe," Amardís whispered with a small smile on her lips.

Erynlith nodded. "Yeah, sure. It's not like I will be marching in a place filled with twelve unfamiliar counselors, and a king and a prince. I think I can manage."

Soon, they passed through the borderline of the said halls, and the elves who were gathered there instantly stood up. Erynlith tried to avoid everyone's gaze, and felt Amardís slowly slipping away. She wanted to grab her friend's arm, plead not to leave her, but Amardís _had_ to leave. She gave Erynlith an encouraging smile and motioned for her to go forward. Erynlith gulped and turned back to the large table, only to realize that Thranduil had come to escort her.

She sighed in relief. "Get me out of here."

"I can't," Thranduil chuckled, and entwined Erynlith's arm with his. They began to walk towards the table, with the King and his counselors waiting. Thranduil leaned in to whisper in her ear. "You look stunning in that dress."

"Oh, joy," Erynlith snorted.

He had set her on the left side of the King, and he was on the right. The counselors were lined up continuously, all twelve of them, and they all greeted Erynlith as their guest. The counselors were all robed and dark-haired. What caught Erynlith's eyes was the female counselor who sat beside Thranduil. Her hair was perhaps the darkest shade that there was, but the eyes were bright blue, just like the clear sky. And she was beautiful, even for the stranger like Erynlith; it was too obvious to see. The lady was quiet and listened well, and when the food was served and the other counselors began chattering again, the lady resumed eating quietly.

Erynlith looked down at her plate and frowned.

Vegetables.

Slowly, _ever so slowly_, she pushed the plate away and grabbed a cup instead. She gulped once and almost retched from the unfamiliar liquor. It was then she realized that all cups were filled with the King's best-tasting wine, and that all counselors were forced to drink them. Erynlith shuddered from the taste, trying her best for the taste to fade from her tongue, but to no avail. The counselors around her were engrossed in loud conversations, even the King himself. Her eyes wandered to Thranduil. He ate silently, taking small bites from his plate of vegetables, and gave no attention to the loud counselors. Then, her eyes went to the lady beside Thranduil. She was finished eating; her plate was free of the food served, and now she was drinking the wine from the very last drop.

"_How could she even eat the vegetables?"_ Erynlith wondered.

All of a sudden, the dark-haired counselor beside her turned to her, and he smiled warmly.

"Good evening, Lady Erynlith. I trust you are enjoying the evening." His eyes went down to her untouched plate. "Vegetables do not suit your fancy? And the wine as well?"

Erynlith smiled sheepishly. "Um, vegetables and wines are not really my thing. I prefer meat though, lots of them." She realized how stupid she must have sounded to the counselor. It made her cringe inwardly, and she wished to bury herself somewhere else.

The counselor laughed quietly. "Well, meat is actually good for the body, but too much might also risk your health. It would do you better if your meat and vegetables are well-balanced, my lady." When Erynlith forced another awkward, the counselor added: "But your build seems fit enough. Do you do a lot of chores?"

"Not really," she answered. Her fingers fiddled with the lace of her dress beneath the table. "But I do a lot of horseback riding and traveling with my friends back in Rivendell."

"Traveling?" the counselor repeated, taking a small sip from his cup. "That sounds interesting. In Rivendell, Lord Elrond dwells, correct? I have been there once, and you might not be there though." He laughed quietly again. "Who do you travel with, if I may ask?"

"Gildor," Erynlith answered quickly, finally smiling sincerely.

"Ah, Inglorion!" the counselor beamed with delight. "Yes, yes, I remember him! The golden-haired, yes? He was there to welcome us some centuries ago. It was rare for him to stay put in one place, is that correct?"

Erynlith nodded. "He always leaves Rivendell, and I sometimes come with him in his travels. One time, we reached as far as Cardolan, but we turned back when things turned worse."

"And I assume you've come to Lindon?" the counselor asked again. He was too attentive and engrossed in this conversation that he had forgotten his other friends.

Again, she nodded. "Yes, a few times actually. And I've met the High King; he was very friendly and regal, and intimidating at the same time."

"I'd love to travel back to Rivendell and meet more of your friends, my lady," the counselor said. "Would it be possible for me to do that?"

She laughed earnestly. "Of course, you can! I will show you all the beautiful spots in Rivendell."

"It is a deal then." The counselor smiled.

* * *

Thranduil fought the urge to prop his chin under his palm. The supposed grand dinner was now a loud, festive one. Some of the counselors were now drunk, laughing fervently at someone's lame jests. Even the King was participating, his eighth cup of wine on hand, and had left his seat to join the others who sat at the end of the table. Thranduil had finished his meal, his wine was always refilled by a butler, but he was now restless, and finding the event boring. He glanced at the lady beside him; she was too quiet and thoughtful to be disturbed. Not that he wanted to even talk to her in the first place. He knew this lady was one native Silvan elves, like Santien and Amardís, and that she was a long member of his father's council. He tried remembering her name, but to no avail.

His blue eyes drifted to Erynlith, and he was surprised that she found someone to talk to, despite her protests of attending the event earlier. She talked endlessly with the friendly counselor, his attention fully turned to her, and they both laughed amidst the throng. Thranduil wondered what they were talking about; he could not remember a time when he and Erynlith had been so engrossed in a conversation, and _laughing_. Their conversations were mostly filled with sarcasm and tease, sometimes rude comments and pride, and every once in a while, reflecting on their lives.

He continued to watch them on the corner of his eye, trying not to make it too obvious for them. He took another sip, and set his cup back on the table. He felt a yawn coming up, and he clamped his mouth shut.

"Are you free tomorrow?" Thranduil heard the counselor ask Erynlith, and she reluctantly nodded. "Maybe you would like me to show you the library," the counselor continued. "It is the grandest that we have here, better than that of Lórinand's, and you might appreciate some of the paintings there. Or maybe you would like to have a quiet time in the courtyard? A minstrel like you must prefer silence?"

"Anything would do," answered Erynlith, and Thranduil heard it. "Personally, I would like to explore the forest tomorrow. There are more things that I haven't seen here."

"We can make that happen," the counselor said, smiling at her. "After breakfast will do, yes?"

She nodded. "Of course."

Thranduil fought another urge to groan and roll his eyes. He called for the butler, had him refill his cup, and chugged the sweet liquor in one large drinking. But as he drank, the conversation in front of him continued until the night waned, and it was time to head back to their chambers. One by one, the counselors stood up and bade goodnight to each other; some were drunk and giggled. Such was the festivities in Greenwood. The Silvan lady beside Thranduil quickly excused herself, and wished the King and the Prince goodnight. Next, the counselor friend of Erynlith stood up and kissed the back of her hand, and said something about looking forward to their meeting tomorrow.

"I'm sorry, but what is your name again?" Erynlith asked before her friend could leave.

"Haldamir, my lady," the counselor answered politely. "My name is Haldamir."

With that, he left with his fellow counselor, assisting those who stumbled off their balance. Butlers and other servants rushed in to clear the mess. King Oropher smiled at Erynlith and said goodnight to her. His head was swirling with the wine, but he laughed it off, and told Thranduil to take their guest back to her rooms. Erynlith flinched, realizing Thranduil was still there. He had been too quiet throughout the whole dinner that she had forgotten about him.

"Let me take you back to your room," Thranduil offered and began to take her away.

Erynlith smelled the whiff of the red liquor from his breath, and she knew he had been drinking too much. His fair face was flushed, albeit still handsome, and he walked as though nothing happened. Thranduil had his alcohol tolerance well under his control. Somehow, it was admiring. Even Erestor and Amroth were not for wines. And she certainly had strong aversion to liquor, mainly because of its insufferable taste. Elrond rarely served wine in his dinner table; it was mostly tea. But in Greenwood, wine was basically their water.

On their way back to her room, no conversation fell upon them. Thranduil led her way, knowing that she was still unfamiliar with all the intersecting hallways, and she followed obediently. She was breathless from wearing the dress, and she wished to take it off as soon as possible. She looked at Thranduil's back, his golden mane flowing behind, and she knew he was not in the mood for a light talk. It was already midnight, and Erynlith thought he wanted to get some rest already.

She thanked Thranduil when they arrived at her room. But his eyes were staring quietly at her, like he always did. She avoided his gaze, unsure of what to say and do. At length, Thranduil said: "I'll see you in the morning."

"Yes, but—" She promised her new friend Haldamir to accompany him tomorrow after breakfast.

Thranduil narrowed his eyes at her. "I _will_ see you in the morning, little one," he sternly demanded. "Until then, have a good night's sleep." He kissed the back of her hand and went off.

Erynlith shrugged and entered her room. She fervently began to strip of her green dress and that dreadful corset. But she could not reach the laces behind her back, and it was late to realize that her attendants were not there. She muttered a curse under her breath and continued pulling away the dress. The sleeves and skirt were ripped off, and Erynllith rolled over to the bed to get them off. More ripping noises. More curses. Then, she fell on the ground with a soft thud.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Yes, I know, I have been gone since forever! There comes a time when an author suddenly feels off about his or her story, you know. And it just happened to me. And school is getting ridiculously exhausting. Thank you for the last review that I read: it inspired and motivated me to update even for just one chapter. I am really sorry for the delay of the updates.

And guess what?! BOTFA was incredibly amazing! I love the battle sequences, being the battle fan that I am, though Fili and Kili's deaths were somehow... different that I imagined. And yes, I do believe Fili deserves a better death. And then there's THORIN. (T⌓T)

Thank you for reading and stay tuned for the next chapter!


	18. The Game Continues

**Chapter 18**

_**The Game Continues**_

* * *

"Thranduil, where are we going?" Erynlith whined as she rubbed her sleepy eyes.

He didn't look back. "You said you wanted to explore the forest. Now, we are exploring, so enough of the complaining and whining. Just follow me." He moved some of the thick bushes out of his way and continued. Behind him, a sleepy minstrel followed, too grumpy to even smile.

It was barely dawn; even the Sun was not entirely up yet. For some reason, Thranduil shook her from her pleasant reverie and demanded that they go outside. She complied, and the prince tossed her a cloak and dragged her out of the palace. They had already passed the Elven-guard's outpost; Raithon and his guards greeted them as they passed through. Thranduil was in his usual green and brown hunter's garb, dark trousers and boots, and his silver brooch was ever present. He looked more like one of the elf guards than a prince. And Erynlith wore no different; the prince had given her the same kind of clothing, only dark blue, and a grey cloak to keep her from shivering in such a cold morning.

"Are we there yet?" She whined again. The first rays of the Sun finally showed, and it made her feel good. She rubbed her eyes yet again, and suppressed a yawn. Thranduil had warned her earlier not to yawn so uncouthly.

"First, we have to hunt for breakfast," he replied, still not looking back to her.

"Breakfast?" she repeated, not convinced for a second. "You do know that we can have breakfast in the palace, right? Why did we have to go all the way here? The explorations can wait until later. You could have joined me for breakfast, tra-la-lay..."

Thranduil chuckled and glanced back at her. "A prince does not get invited for breakfast in his own palace. It is sweet for you to invite me, though."

She rolled her eyes. There it was again, the usual narcissistic Thranduil. "Great. So why should I come with you? I promised a counselor last night that I'd accompany him. He will look for me, tra-lo."

"I don't care," he answered. "You should humor someone with authority first than all others."

"Give me a break, will you?" She wanted to leave this prince in his egotistical fantasies already. "It is too early for you to be bragging about yourself. Save it for later this afternoon, okay?"

He laughed. "Alright, I will, for your sake."

They arrived at a river bank, a few meters away from the palace. The waters of Anduin were running wildly, and the late autumn air breezed. Thranduil dropped on the ground and placed his bow and sword beside him. He looked up to his companion expectantly.

"Breakfast," was all he said.

Erynlith did not understand. "… What?"

"You said you wanted to have breakfast," he said nonchalantly, already feeling comfortable in his sitting position. He faced the river and leaned his back against a tree trunk. "Go get us some breakfast."

She looked at him incredulously. He dragged her all the way out there just to order _her_ to get them breakfast? And as she glared at him, Thranduil smirked, and his eyes were glinting in mischief. She knew he was doing on it purpose, whether for his entertainment or what, she could not guess anymore. She did not want to please him, she never did. She crossed her arms and sat beside him, still glaring. Thranduil looked disappointed of her stubbornness, but he kept grinning at her.

"Any time now…" he drawled impatiently. "You wouldn't want to keep your prince waiting and starving, would you, little one? It would be terrible of the Prince of Greenwood the Great gets hungry for a little subject's stubbornness, hm?"

"I thought I said we save the self-centered comments later." Erynlith rolled her eyes at him.

He laughed quietly. "Really, now… If you want to stay here for quite some time, you should get used to our way of living. Greenwood is not the same with Rivendell. Everyone here knows how to hunt, even the most delicate of the maidens do. And you should be no different. Hunting for breakfast should be a breeze for you. And…" He paused to look at her. "You _do_ know how to hunt for breakfast, I trust?"

"Um, can we go back to the part where I have to learn?"

"You are unbelievable," Thranduil breathed exasperatedly. He tossed the bow and quiver over to her. "Get us some breakfast. Now. And be fast; I really am starving." And he rubbed his abdomen for added effect.

Erynlith groaned and stood up. "Fine. You should stop ordering me around after this one, your hear me?" She went back into the forest, in search for something to eat. But it was already late autumn; were there still fruits around? She groaned again when she found none. All the fruit-bearing trees were barren and ready for winter. Her hope was almost diminished until her eyes caught glimpse of what seemed to be a thick bush, and there were berries. She beamed in delight and fetched them.

Thranduil was lost in a reverie when his companion returned. She tossed him a bag of what he figured were berries, and he quickly dug in to see what it was. He held up a small dark berry, and examined it. Then, he looked up to his friend, who was smiling broadly at him, obviously proud of her first accomplishment of the day. With a heavy sigh, he dropped the berry back into the small bag.

"Are you serious?" he said incredulously, earning a confused look from his friend. "These are Nightshade berries." Erynlith blinked at him. He sighed again. "They're poisonous."

"Oh, they are? How unfortunate for you, tra-lil-lay..."

"You're hopeless." He grunted and stood up, taking his bow and quiver from her. "Come. I'll show you how to fish because I assume you do not know this either." He and Erynlith went further down into the river bank. He drew one arrow and aimed on the shallow part of the river. "This part is easy," he began, feeling some sort of a mentor to her. "Imagine you are hunting some orcs, which should be easy. You wait, aim, and release! Ha, see?! I got one!" He proudly exclaimed and took a fish out.

Erynlith clapped her hands. "Good. We're having fish for breakfast, tra-la-la," she sang gleefully.

"And it's your turn," Thranduil said, returning the bow in her hands. "I'll start the fire, you start hunting fish. I expect you in a few minutes." He went back to his previous post and gathered some firewood.

"Fish, fish." Erynlith scoffed, notching an arrow to the bowstring. "Yeah, I can hunt a fish or two. It should be easy. I've seen Gildor had done this so easily. Fish, fish... what is the Elvish for fish, I wonder?" She paused for a while, and then, "Ah, yes, _khal_ is for fish, tra-la-lay..."

"I didn't tell you to _sing_! I told you to get us some breakfast!" Thranduil called out to her.

"I _am_ getting your precious breakfast!" She shouted back.

In the next few minutes, they were comfortably sitting in front of a small bonfire Thranduil made, eating their fish, and making no talk whatsoever. It was such a silent breakfast in a silent morning. The Sun had fully risen into the sky now, warming the whole of Greenwood. Critters sounded near them, and Erynlith got up to chase them, much to the disapproval but amusement of the elf prince. She ran around chasing squirrels, as though she was still a child, and when the critters were gone, she slumped back to her seat.

They remained quiet then; Thranduil was glad Erynlith knew when to keep quiet when needed. As his companion kept her thoughts to herself, he reached out for his back pocket and felt the two daggers that were strapped there. He felt for one cold blade, and his mind wondered of what he might do with it. Then, it hit him. Smirking to himself, he stood up unnoticed by his companion, and he waited on the edge of the river bank.

"So, little one…" he called out to her, his voice sly, and Erynlith looked up to him. He took out one of the daggers, a white-hilted one, and they both knew to whom it belonged to.

Erynlith jumped up from her seat. "That's mine," she declared. During her very first week in Greenwood, Thranduil had gotten hold of her two daggers, and he was determined not to return it to her. He had teased her about it once, but she was never able to reclaim them. He thought this was a good opportunity to spark up another little game with her, and he certainly looked forward to it.

"Oh, is it really?" He crooned and started twirling the dagger. "I have this in my possession for quite a time now. Are you not going to get it back?"

"Give that back," Erynlith said in a demanding voice, already walking towards him. She was glaring yet again, just as expected. "That is not yours to play with, and you've been keeping that for too long. Give that back!" She ran towards him in an attempt to take the dagger away, but Thranduil was taller and swifter. Evading her attempts was too easy for him.

"Either you will beg me, or you will have to disarm me," he simpered. He showed the dagger out for her to see, and he knew she was growling. When she did not move, he looked disappointed. "Come on, little one. Where is your sense of fun?"

"Give that back or I'll… I'll… just give that back!"

And their little game commenced. Erynlith grabbed his shoulder, trying to stop his constant moving, as her other hand tried to grab the outstretched dagger. She jumped and pulled and shouted, adding to Thranduil's entertainment. He laughed as her face became flustered in annoyance, and he kept the dagger out of her reach. They were running in circles now, and he was earning lots of glares and shouts from his friend. He laughed again. Surely, no one in Greenwood was more entertaining than Erynlith. Finally, she collapsed to her knees, panting fervently.

"Keep going," Thranduil urged. "You are so close… Come on, try again…"

"Give that back already!"

"No."

In her final attempt to reclaim it, she charged and tackled him to the ground. They both fell, she on top of him, and the game continued. She tried to pin the elf prince with her weight, but he was always stronger. She reached out for the dagger, and almost had it if Thranduil did not roll them over. Now she was pinned underneath him, adjusting his horrible weight, and she screamed again and again. The prince laughed and tightened his grip on the dagger's hilt. With all the struggling, he wanted to make sure none of them would be hurt.

"Thranduil!" The screaming continued as she thrashed beneath him. She kicked hard until the arrogant elf prince moved away from her. He sat beside her, panting a little, and grinned again. "Give it back!" Her demand continued, and she crawled over to him. He stretched his arm out of her reach. "Just stop it already! Give me back my dagger!"

When his cheek was accidentally slapped from the chaos, Thranduil winced and his grip on the dagger loosened. The blade was dropped and Erynlith quickly crawled over to it. She held it up, as though earning some very valuable prize, and turned to give him a victorious smug smile. Thranduil stroked his stinging cheek, hoping the slight pain would fade away soon. And as Erynlith was celebrating for her dubious win, Thranduil pulled out the second dagger. He showed it off to her, his smirk never fading, and his companion's eyes widened in realization.

"Oh, you are kidding…" Erynlith breathed.

He chuckled. "No, I am not. It is amusing to see such a fine dagger in your possession. How did you come by it, and who made it? The hilt is beautifully carved, and even the blade had Elvish writing on it." He looked at her mischievously. "I can read the name 'Eglador' from here…"

Hearing that name, Erynlith flinched. It felt different to hear that name again after so many years. She knew Erestor agreed that the name should not be spoken anymore, as it would only bring bittersweet memories. It would remind Erestor of his so-called failure, an accident that charged more than thirty elves all in one day. And he returned that day, almost as dead as his friends, but someone was there to pull him back again. Erynlith shook her head at that memory, blinking back the tears that welled in her eyes. No, she did not cry for that loss. She cried for Erestor's situation back then, trying to understand what had happened.

Thranduil noticed her passiveness, the way she looked affected by hearing the name. He knew his initial assumptions were correct, but he did not try to press the topic anymore. He wouldn't want to make her cheerless, or worse.

"Well, what about this one? Will you not take this as well?" He said, trying to regain the lost joyful little game.

Erynlith scoffed. "Yes, I will. Now should I tackle you again or you will hand that over to me nicely?"

"I don't think so," he said and stood up. He twirled the second dagger yet again. "Disarm me. If you want to stay here with us, you also need to learn the basics of survival. Like I said earlier, Rivendell is different from Greenwood. There are no stone gates to protect you, only wooden gates. No armored warriors to protect you, only guards garbed in tunics and boots. The difference there is imposing. If you can hunt thirty orcs in one night, then you can disarm me of this little white dagger."

She groaned. She was already exhausted from the first struggle. What made him think she would go for another round? But the daggers were far more important to her. You cannot have the one without the other. It was crafted long before she was born, and was passed down over the years. Erestor kept it hidden until she knew how to wield them, hoping that the blades would save her from danger. And the supposed things to save her were in the hands of a self-centered elf prince.

And so, the second game continued. It was alike with the first one, filled with screams and laughter. One might think these two arguing elves were children, fighting over such a nontrivial thing. But they were both acting like children; one was teasing and the other was flustered with annoyance. Just like to little elflings in the playground. In the end, when Thranduil had sensed his friend was getting more exhausted, he pretended to drop the dagger, and was immediately caught by her.

"I got it!" Erynlith exclaimed, almost kissing the blade with her delight. Then, she glared at Thranduil. He was standing by the river bank again; his back turned to her, and was silent. Quietly, she made her way towards him and when she got close enough, she reached out to push him. But Thranduil was too quick for her, and the situation turned upside-down. Erynlith almost fell on the river if not for the grip on her wrist. It was Thranduil, and he was dangling her off helplessly on the edge of the river. She screamed and was pulled back onto the ground.

"That was a lame attempt," Thranduil said. He crossed his arms. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

She looked flustered. Her plans were not going as smoothly as his, and it made her frustrated. Without thinking, she grabbed one of the daggers and threw it at him. But he evaded it effortlessly, and the dagger sank into the river behind with a soft _plop_. And with that, her minutes of arguing with him came to nothing. She scrambled onto her feet and see how deep the dagger had gotten into. Its white blade gleamed under the water, but it was too far from her reach. Even using a branch wouldn't do it. She gave Thranduil an accusing look.

"Look what you've done! Go get it back!"

He shrugged. "Why me? You threw it. Go get it yourself."

"But Thranduil!" She looked flustered alright, and it was entertaining for him. Then, her voice dropped into a low whisper. "You have to get it back…"

Suddenly, he paused. There was a look of downfall in her face as she looked back on her lost dagger. Somehow, it made him feel guilty. But he knew he was dauntless and would not easily give in to other's wishes. He was a prince, after all. He shouldn't please other people. Others should please _him_.

"I don't care," he snorted. "You go get it yourself."

Erynlith glared and gripped the hilt of the other dagger. When Thranduil continued to look at her with his unimpressed look, she seethed in anger and threw the dagger at him. As per usual, he dodged, but his eyes were widened at the realization that she just tried to hurt him. He looked back; the dagger was deeply ingrained on a tree trunk. Just as he looked, he heard Erynlith mutter something, and she stomped away in anger.

"Where are you going?" he demanded, not very pleased that he was almost pierced by the blade. "You're not leaving your weapons behind, are you?"

"Shut up!" she seethed and continued to walk back towards the palace.

He followed, leaving the two daggers behind. For some reason, his mood turned sour. He was glaring all the way back. When they passed the outpost, Raithon approached his friend to inquire about Erynlith's foul mood, only to realize that Thranduil was the same.

"What happened?" Raithon asked cordially. He had a concerned look on his face.

"I don't know," Thranduil answered in all honesty. What did happen? One time they were laughing like children, and the next they were glaring at each other. "Whatever happened, it is _her_ fault, not mine."

"Are you sure you didn't do something out of hand?" the captain pressed.

"Give me a break," the elf prince snorted. "I could care less about what happened. If she wants to stay angry, then fine, let her."

Raithon chuckled. "You are both acting like children. And you should swallow your pride for once. She is a lady, and a lady's mind is full of secrets and traps. Try to understand her. She's your minstrel after all."

Thranduil looked unimpressed. "One, she is _not_ a minstrel. She is an eccentric elf from Rivendell who sings eccentric songs. Two, she is _not_ mine for argument's sake."

"Alright, fine." Raithon held up both hands in defense. "Calm down. Goodness me." When Thranduil walked passed him, his anger still not dissipating, but worsened, the captain had to add: "Hey. You wouldn't punch the next nearest person to you, would you?"

"I might as well, to make this frustration fade."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Hurray for an early update! I tried fixing my schedule to have some time to edit and publish this chapter.

The reviews last chapters are indeed very heart-warming; it's like coming home from a very long vacation. It is very motivating to read opinions, especially from the new ones who dropped by to give review on the last two chapters.

***Asmodeus Black** \- Thank you! And yes, I was trying to keep my feels in check while watching in the cinemas.

***KrystylSky **and **Oriana5 **\- Many thanks to the two of you as well!

***Penrose Quinn** \- I am very grateful on your lengthy review; it is very comforting that readers like you appreciate Erynlith just as she is, and how Thranduil is portrayed. And woah! You've read my Grey/OC fic? LOL. It seemed too long ago since I last updated it. Thank you for reading that as well! I know this reply is terse, but I cannot really express how thankful I am for such a motivating review!

***TishaLiz**\- Thank you, and yes, I will keep on updating this story!

***Lana** \- Yes, my language may seem a bit off, and thank you for pointing that out. I'll try looking into my errors and learn how to improve my writing. Thank you for reviewing!

***DeLacus** \- I missed talking with youuu~! I have been away for so long, I know! I'll try bringing back more Elvish sass in the upcoming chapters.

Once again, reviews are greatly appreciated. The next chapter will not be long, I hope. For now, please enjoy this one. Thank you!


	19. Sîr-e-Ndaedelos

**Chapter 19**

_**Sîr-e-Ndaedelos**_

* * *

Oropher sat at the head of the table; the two elves beside him were awkwardly silent. It was their fourth day of being like that, and the king had no idea what was happening. Most of the nights would be filled with glares and huffs, some muttering under the breath, and a little roll of eyes from the umber-haired minstrel. And when that happened, Oropher would turn to Thranduil, who would only growl in return. From those hostile nights, the King thought something came between the two young elves. He wanted to talk it over to Thranduil, but the moment every dinner was finished, the elf prince would immediately excuse himself. And Erynlith would follow, after bidding the King goodnight, and she would spare Thranduil another glare.

"Amusing, aren't they?" Oropher once told his dark-haired female Chief Counselor.

She glanced up from her written reports, humoring the King, and went back to her work. "Yes, they are, my lord."

Her ebony hair was neatly braided over her shoulder, and was simply adorned with a yellow flower that she found in the gardens. Slender fingers hurriedly worked her report, as her bright blue eyes occasionally looked up to look at the Sindarin elf.

"Do you think Thranduil might have liked her?" the King continued, completely unaware of the reason why he was there in the first place. They received a message from Elrond a few days after Erynlith arrived. It was no message of greetings, but instead, of warfare. Elrond mentioned the gathering of the armies in Lindon, and that the High King would muster all the elves soon.

"He might," she answered. "My lord, if the War breaks again, what should happen to Greenwood?" This counselor was more concerned of real events than the King's musings of his son's fondness to their guest. "Prince Thranduil should finish the architectural design of the planned northern fortress. If that fortress is finished before the War, perhaps our people could retreat there for safety."

"Of course, Celairis," King Oropher replied, giving her a thoughtful look. "I believe with Thranduil's spare time, he should be done with the plans by now. Will you fetch the thing for me? We should really begin fortifying the fortress. Send word to Raithon. He should prepare his Elven-guard for battle. The armory should be filled, and the forges be manned by the smiths."

"Should we really march to battle, my lord?" Celairis asked, standing up from the desk and piling her papers neatly. Warfare never interested her; it was too dangerous for their simple Silvan folk. And she was one of them, a native in Greenwood the Great, and taking Oropher as their King seemed like the best option they had. These Sindar knew warfare better than them.

"There is nothing else we can do." Suddenly, the King looked solemn. The light in his eyes dimmed, as though he was taken back years before he was monarch. Then, he looked at her and smiled weakly. "Please, fetch Thranduil's report about the fortress. We should begin our everlasting preparations."

* * *

Thranduil looked at his finished sketch. What he had imagined of the northern fortress, with the additional remarks from Raithon, the work was already done, and he was proud of it. He imagined the fortress to be delved deep underground, just like another Elven-city centuries ago, and the pillars were wooden, and the lamps hung on each. The interior was finished, although carelessly drawn, but he did not care anymore.

He was bored. To be more precise, he felt incomplete. For the past days, he tried to shift his attention elsewhere. He would run around the palace, thoroughly checking each significant place, and then visit Raithon in the outpost or Santien in the infirmary. Still, he felt incomplete, and he refused to admit why. Ever since the little argument and the almost disastrous outcome a few days ago, he had purposely avoided Erynlith. He was too upset to even think about it, how she tried to hurt him. He expected her to apologize, just as she apologized in Lórinand, because they both knew it was entirely _her_ fault. But no; she did not apologize. Instead, she kept glaring and huffing, and on one occasion, bumped into him and spilled his wine on his precious blue robe. She didn't even apologize back then, and it was insulting for his part.

But even if he was angry at her, he could see the loneliness in Erynlith's eyes as well. She did not leave the palace since, seemingly contented on sulking inside her room. Her attendant and friend Amardís kept her company every once in a while. She occasionally visited Santien in the infirmary, when she had nothing better to do. Fortunately, the usually aloof healer welcomed her uninvited presence.

"Lord Thranduil?" Celairis' voice rang by the doorway. He quickly stood up to admit her inside the room, but she seemed contented to be standing outside. "King Oropher has asked for your works. The planning should begin soon, and your layout of the northern fortress is needed." She sounded demanding, but her voice was soft and cordial. For some reason, Thranduil felt light with her, and he handed over the paper of his work.

"Will there be a council soon?" he asked her.

She shook her head, dark hair swaying as she did so. "I think there will be, and someone will notify you. Thank you for the design. Good night, my lord." Celairis bowed and left, not wanting to share more idle talk with the elf prince. She was far too busy, and the treatment of Thranduil to Erynlith was quite well-known in the palace. She wouldn't want to be caught up in that.

Sighing to himself, Thranduil grabbed his cloak and went outside. The night was chilly, and snow was coming in fast. He had no particular place in mind to wander off to, but he wanted to clear his mind from all the work. He had read Elrond's message, of the upcoming war, and it made him shudder. He had seen fights here and there, but never a big battle. During his lazy time in the library, he would worry about their victory.

At last, he decided to visit Raithon.

"Good evening, my lord," the guards greeted him when he reached the outpost.

Thranduil nodded and asked for his friend, but one guard told him that the captain had left with the minstrel. His eyebrow arched at that term, clearly convinced that Erynlith was no minstrel, and suddenly, he realized that his friend was actually with her. Nonetheless, he thanked the guard and went off to where Raithon and Erynlith had gone off to. It was not very far from the outpost, and was not hard to find.

What he found next was intriguing.

Erynlith held a bow in her hands, with Raithon behind her and guiding her aim. His arms were around her, lifting the bow a little, as he instructed something to her. She nodded and aimed again. Thranduil's eyes followed the released arrow, and it hit the edge of the target. His eyes went back to Erynlith again and saw the disappointed look in her eyes.

"Don't worry!" He heard Raithon say, walking off to fetch the spent arrow. "It's really hard on the first try. But I thought Thranduil said you hunted orcs before?"

She shrugged, slumping on the ground. "Lucky shot, I guess, tra-la."

"Well, you have potential," Raithon assured her. "Just remember not to close your eye when you aim, and consider the wind."

"Yes, will do, tra-lil-lay," Erynlith beamed and smiled at the captain.

Again, Thranduil's brow arched. It was the first time since their argument that he had seen her smile. He never knew Raithon and Erynlith were such good friends, but he wouldn't be surprised. Raithon was too friendly and warm with everyone, despite being Captain of the Guards. Perhaps it was his friendliness and Erynlith's sincerity that brought them together. He continued to watch from the shadows, contented of being unseen by them. He enjoyed watching them, especially when it was rare for Raithon to teach someone how to wield a bow. His guards did that kind of work to the inexperienced young guards.

When Thranduil yawned involuntarily, he knew the night had gotten into him, and he had to return to his chambers. He was reluctant to leave his hiding place, for a reason that he couldn't explain, but he spared one more glance at them. They were still training archery, with Erynlith learning things by each passing hour, and Raithon was patient with her learning. The target was filled with arrows, and the captain would always fetch them back.

"_They'll be fine,"_ Thranduil reassured himself and went back into the palace.

* * *

The next morning, or the fifth morning of their constant avoidance of each other, Erynlith did not join the King and his son for breakfast. Initially, Thranduil had thought she had overslept and gave it no further attention. But his father was insistent and would not start breakfast without her. Before he could send a butler to ask for her, Amardís arrived.

"My lord," she said worriedly, and Thranduil looked at her attentively. "I cannot find Lady Erynlith anywhere. She must have left the palace."

Instantly, Thranduil jolted up from his seat and sprinted out of the banquet halls. He gave no word to his father, which was quickly understood by him. As he left their sights, Amardís turned to the King. Oropher chuckled and sipped from his wine. His own little game was in motion. "Good acting, dear girl," he said victoriously.

Somehow, Thranduil knew exactly where to search for her. When he passed the outpost, and the guards told him that Erynlith had been there, he had no doubt anymore. His bow and sword were with him in case something bad happened. He ran through the trees and jumped over bushes. In no time, he arrived in the same river bank as before. He found Erynlith kneeling on the edge, looking down at her lost dagger. The other one was still embedded on the tree trunk.

"You…" Erynlith hissed at the sight of Thranduil. "What are you doing here?"

"What are _you_ doing here?" He countered, walking towards her. "Breakfast is ready. The King is waiting."

"And my dagger has been waiting for five days." She snorted. "It's about time for _you_ fetching it, tra-la."

Thranduil blinked at her. She was still trying to press that matter? But it had been five days; he had no time to argue with her now. Slowly, he discarded his outer silver robe and allowed it to pool at his feet. Next, he removed his inner tunic and boots. Erynlith gaped, her cheeks quickly flushing light red at the sight of the elf prince.

"W-What are you d-d-d-oing?!"

He smirked as he tossed his boots aside. What he wore now was only his dark trousers. His skin was warm against the sunlight, but he thought a little swim shouldn't hurt. "Doing you a favor," he answered coolly. He offered a hand to her. "Want to join me for a swim, little one?"

She slapped his hand away. "Not in your life! Get going, tra-lo."

He laughed and dove into the water. The loud splash soaked Erynlith, but she kept sitting on the edge. Thranduil was an adept swimmer, and retaking a dagger back should be no problem to him. There he saw it. The blade was gleaming bright amidst the rocks, and he reached out to grab it. The currents were strong enough to wash him away, but he kept his hold firm on a boulder. Not long after, he emerged at the middle of the river, holding up the white dagger.

"Is this what you are looking for?" He crooned, tucking a lock of his golden hair behind his ear. He was smirking now; the days of hostility to each other were long gone. He waved the dagger back and forth. "Come and get it…"

Erynlith threw a pebble at him. "Thranduil! I have no time for your games! Give that back right now!"

"Why don't you get it instead?" He simpered. His companion clamped her mouth shut in defeat. Then, realization dawned to him. There was always a reason why she did not pursue the dagger even it was easy to do so. He was a fool for not realizing it too early. He smirked at her, now knowing one of her many secrets.

"You can't swim, can you?"

She did not answer.

"I thought as much."

He laughed and swam back towards the edge. He saw Erynlith was ready to retrieve the dagger from him. His mind instantly thought of something mischievous, and he kept his sly smile hidden. When he reached the banks and was about to pull himself out, he grabbed Erynlith by the shoulder and pulled her back into the water with him. In that precise moment, Thranduil swam back into the deeper part of the river, with Erynlith gasping for air beside him.

"THRANDUIL!"

Her voice screaming his name was music to his ears. She desperately clung onto his arms and neck, one arm draped over his shoulder in fear of drowning. Underneath the water, her legs were wrapped around his waist as she kept her head out of the water. But Thranduil was only laughing at her. His left arm was carefully snaked around her waist to ensure her firm position on him.

"Bring me back to shore right now! Thranduil!"

"No." Thranduil continued to laugh. "Stop squirming or we'll both drown!"

But she continued thrashing around, the water splashed on their faces, and he kept his balance still. His friend, however, was panicking beside him. She was trying to get away from him, but as the same time, trying not to drown. It was a silly turn of events for both of them.

"Stop it!" Erynlith screamed, her legs now kicking and her arms wrapped around his neck tightly. "Bring me back now or you'll regret it, Thranduil! Stop it!"

He pretended to loosen his grip around her waist, and instantly, she slipped from his body. She quickly grabbed his shoulder back and clung onto him, now shivering from the cold waters. She pounded his shoulder and shouted in his ears, still demanding to be brought back into the shore. But he was enjoying his time with her, in the middle of a rushing river, and his grip on a nearby boulder was still firm. The dagger dangled on his right hand, while the left supported Erynlith's weight beside him.

"First, tell me how sorry you are."

"What?!" She glared yet again despite her compromising situation.

"It is your fault why we never talked to each other for days, why we _purposely_ ignored and annoyed each other for five days. I want you to apologize for spilling my wine on my shirt, for bumping on me several times in the hallways, and for almost hurting me with your dagger." His voice was teasing but somehow demanding. "I want you to apologize for all that. Then, I might reconsider of sparing your life from drowning. And how can you not know how to swim?"

"Shut up!" Erynlith cried and Thranduil loosened his grip around her waist once more. In an instant, she clung onto his neck tighter, her face burying at the crook of his neck. "Fine, fine, I am sorry! I am sorry for acting such an undignified elf for a few days! I am sorry about your precious robe, okay? Now, _please_, bring me back to shore!"

Thranduil laughed and brushed his lips against her forehead, reassuring her. Slowly, he swam back to shore and lifted her up. Erynlith collapsed on the ground, gasping and panting, as Thranduil pulled himself out of the water and sat beside her. He dropped the dagger and squeezed the water out of his pale golden hair. He was smiling down at her as she coughed and glared at him.

"I hate you…" She mumbled, collapsing again on the ground.

"I know," he simply said and went back to fetch his dry clothing. Then, he slumped back on the ground beside her, as though basking in the warm sunlight. "You will feel terrible if you wear those soaked tunic and trousers, you know…"

She scoffed. "Doesn't matter, the prince was too mischievous today."

"Tell me about it."

And in that haughty comment, Erynlith pulled out one of her boots and threw it at him. Thranduil evaded it, and the boot flew across the field and out of their sight.

"Ah, look what you've done!" She looked at Thranduil accusingly. "Get it back!"

"What?" He sounded dejected. "Go get it yourself this time! I already got your dagger so go get your stupid boot!"

"Fine!" Erynlith stomped away, feeling silly for having only one boot on. The other flew behind the thick bushes, and it was such a hassle to go after it. She hoped the prince was in a good mood to get it back as well. But he was not, and she was forced fetch it. She began to occupy herself with a little hum. "Stupid, _stupid_ Thranduil…"

When Erynlith reached the bushes, she crouched and searched for her missing boot. She looked under thick thorny bushes, between rocks and grasses, but there was none. She muttered a curse in Elvish and continued searching; it would be shameful if she returned empty-handed. And Thranduil would once again tease her about it. She had had enough of his antics and wished for him to act more maturely. She was not _that_ mischievous back in Rivendell anyway.

A low growl stopped her from her crawl, and warily, she looked up. Not far away from her, a Warg was sniffing on her boot, its saliva trickling from its opened jaw. She gulped and backed away, only to hit something else. It was soft… and warm, _fearfully warm_.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** Erynlith and Thranduil in action, and some moment between them... probably.

**Author's Notes:** I tried updating chapters last night but won't let me log in. Were there any problems in the site? Some party I missed? Anyway! I hope you enjoy this little mischief by the river, courtesy of Thranduil. No, really; if he began stripping off of his clothes in front of me, I would faint _on the spot_. I would not be able to handle such Elvish beauty. (*¬*)

***Yavanna and SunStar** \- Thank you for leaving reviews on the first three chapters. It is very nice to meet you, and I like that your name starts with "Yavanna". Gotta love The Silmarillion!

***Wunderkind4006** \- Thank you for the long review! I am glad you appreciate the story and the characters. As for Oropher's characterization, I do believe that, as a father, he has natural warmth and love for Thranduil. And I have never seen him and Thranduil as a cold characters; not before The Hobbit film trilogy came out, where Thranduil was portrayed as a very cold character.

***KrystylSky **\- Women's minds are indeed traps, even for a woman like me. LOL.

***Oriana5 **\- Yes, they should! Someone has to make a move. But who? Hmm.

***Asmodeus Black** \- Yes, Thranduil can really be a jerk sometimes. Thank you for the review!

***DeLacus **\- Really good to have you back! I also missed Erynlith's singsong, so I'll add some more in the upcoming chapters. Thank you for the review!

For your reading pleasure~


	20. Gwend

**Chapter 20**

_**Gwend**_

* * *

Thranduil was too impatient to wait for her. He was fully-clothed when he decided to look for her, thinking that how could looking for a boot be so hard. Then again, he assumed she ran across another critter in the woods, must be a fawn this time, and she had forgotten why she was there in the first place. He sighed; he knew Erynlith enough that she could get carried away with the simplest of things. Suddenly, he smiled just thinking about her.

Taking his sword and bow, he went off to fetch her.

But before he could leave the river bank, Erynlith came back towards him. He looked puzzled at her disheveled look, and his eyes widened at the gushing red on her right wrist. He was frozen, and didn't know what to do. She was screaming at him, pleading and pulling him by the wrist; but he could not make out the words. He was too horrified with her wounded wrist.

What was happening? Why was she hurt? _Who hurt her?_

These questions flooded his mind, and he could still not react. No words fell from his mouth, even if he wanted to assure her.

"Thranduil!" Erynlith was shouting, desperately pulling his arm; her own wrist was tainted with blood. "Thranduil, _run_!"

And at that moment, Thranduil heard her voice, and he was sent back to reality. An angry howl snapped him from his pathetic trance, realizing that they were in a compromising situation. Out from the bushes there sprinted a brown-furred warg, its bloodshot eyes glaring menacingly at the two elves. It was growling as it slowly made its way towards them. Thranduil heard Erynltih gasp, and she cowered behind him, still trying to pull him away from the scene. But the warg pounced again, and Thranduil pushed Erynlith out of the way. She rolled over to the river's damp banks, face first on the damp soil, as Thranduil was thrown aside by the warg. It had its fangs bared against him, and he mustered all his strength to keep the fangs from sinking in. Thranduil held the warg's mouth, droplets of saliva trickled on his robe, and the warg was kneading him through the ground. Erynlith scrambled back onto her feet, pulling out one of her white daggers.

Then, another warg jumped in and clawed at her. Again she was thrown, dropping the weapon, and she heard Thranduil calling out to her. From her blurry vision he was still fighting off the huge warg above him, and he was weaponless; his sword and bow lost in the encounter. The second warg leapt on Erynlith, and she rolled away, only to hit the back of a tree trunk. The warg followed her, diving in for the kill, and the force uprooted the tree behind her. She stood up in an attempt to grab a weapon, but the warg had pushed her away again. The sharp claws hit her torso, she gasping at the pain.

And Thranduil had watched it. Momentarily, he was able to overpower the warg above him in a swift motion, and quickly grabbed the dagger lying on the ground. His hands were now stained with his blood, excruciating pain shooting up in his head, but he did not care anymore. The second warg attacked him, pinned him back onto the ground, and opened its large jaws. But the pain that he awaited was not there; instead, he felt the warg shift slightly above him.

Erynlith had tackled the second warg with all her might, but not enough to completely daunt the creature. In that brief distraction, Thranduil slipped past the hovering warg and picked up his sword. The other creature attempted to pounce on Erynlith, and had come in contact with Thranduil's defensive blow instead. It fell with a loud howling cry, and Thranduil quickly rushed to Erynlith.

"Are you alright?"

She nodded, panting heavily. "There's still another one."

The second growled as vengeance for its companion. It pounced towards Thranduil, and he swung his sword once again. The warg dodged and bit on the sword hard enough to give it a small crack. Thranduil tried to pull his sword away, but the first, now injured, warg tackled him again. He fell, his grip on his sword gone, and his back hit the uprooted tree trunk. He groaned in the pain; his back hit the hilt of the ingrained dagger there, the one Erynlith had left a few days ago. He writhed in pain on the ground, his moans soft but overwhelming, as the two wargs loomed over to him.

Erynlith ran behind the two creatures and picked up Thranduil's bow and quiver. She called out to the creatures, hoping to distract them away from the worn out elf prince. Fortunately, the two wargs turned and snarled at her. As they slowly made their way towards her, temporarily forgetting the writhing Thranduil, Erynlith notched an arrow and carefully aimed. She tried to remember what Raithon had taught her. The first arrow was released, and it hit the first warg on the throat. The creature howled in agony while the second one charged again. Erynlith wanted to run off in fear, but she stood her ground and fired another arrow. Again, it hit the warg's throat.

Ever so slowly, Thranduil got up and pulled the dagger from the tree trunk, and embedded it deep within the second warg's throat. He twisted the blade slowly, making sure the blade grinded the flesh within, as the warg howled and writhed beneath him. The other ran towards Erynlith, and she spent the arrows aiming at the creature's head until it moved no more. Then, Thranduil recovered the blade and panted.

Victory was achieved.

Erynlith quickly dropped the bow and raced towards Thranduil. He collapsed on the ground, mainly because of exhaustion. The dagger slipped from his blood-stained hands as he leaned his back against the uprooted tree trunk. His vision was blurry, and his heart was hammering against his chest. He could see Erynlith kneeling beside him, with her grey eyes scanning his exhausted form.

"Thranduil!" She worriedly called out to him, gently tapping his cheek to keep him awake.

He turned to her despite his failing vision, and then smiled weakly. He brought his stained hands to her cheek and cupped it lightly.

"Are you hurt, little one?" His voice was soft and weak.

She shook her head. "I'm good. You should see yourself, tra-la. Here, give me your hand. It's bleeding terribly, tra-lo." She ripped a piece of her tunic and began wrapping his hands. "You'll be fine, you'll see. Santien will look after you, tra-lay." She bowed her head, obscuring his view of her. She felt guilty about this, and there was no other way to put it. Her tears welled on her eyes, and she blinked them back. "I am so sorry, Thranduil. This is my entire fault. I shouldn't have brought them here. I shouldn't have even thrown that stupid boot in the first place…"

He chuckled. "Oh, please. Do not get so dramatic with me now. This is not you." He smiled at her. "Now, little one, won't you smile for me?"

She did, despite being a forced one. Carefully, she guided Thranduil onto his feet and collected the weapons scattered on the ground. Daggers, bow and quiver, and the broken sword were all collected. The wargs were lifeless, and the two elves hurried back towards the palace.

It was too early for such a chaos.

They had not even eaten breakfast yet.

* * *

The moment they reached the palace, the Elven-guard and Silvan folk stormed towards them. Thranduil collapsed once again in Raithon's arms, his consciousness slowly failing him. He was panting heavily, the pain in his hands and back still lingered terribly. The elf guards scattered to call the King and Santien. There was much turmoil in the palace in such an early morning. Soon, Santien and the other healers arrived. The auburn-haired healer assessed Thranduil's condition: his hands and his head. The elf guards arrived with King Oropher who was suddenly frozen at the sight of his disheveled son. Without orders from the King, the guards carried Thranduil to the infirmary, leaving the Silvan folk murmuring among themselves.

Erynlith was standing silently. After they had arrived, none gave attention to her. She was contented, and she was tired. The look on King Oropher's face was what worried her, and that of Thranduil's condition. For a moment there, she had forgotten of the new injury she acquired. Her right wrist was damaged once again. Her initial encounter with the wargs resulted in a big bite, fangs pierced through her flesh, and the shards of the poisoned arrow that once penetrated her skin. It was the reason why she was in Greenwood in the first place. Had it not for that terrible incident in the High Pass, she wouldn't be there. She wouldn't meet Thranduil.

But Thranduil was in the infirmary. She could already imagine him being surrounded by countless healers, desperate to get their prince healed soon. She could imagine the worry look on King Oropher's face, the concerned look of a father for his only son. And Raithon could be cursing right now, angry of what happened to his friend. The Elven-guard could be mustered in no time, hunting out for the rest of the warg pack. From the corner of her eye, she could see figures of the Silvan folk whispering something about her; in that Silvan dialect that was slowly igniting an irritation inside her. But could she really blame them? She was supposed to be a guest of the King, revered and well-behaved, probably even a guest on Elrond's behalf from Rivendell. But no; she caused them trouble by endangering Thranduil.

"Lady Erynlith," a soft voice called out from behind her. It was Amardís. She looked concerned, and in her hands was a damp cloth. "My lady, your hands… Let me wash them first. Lady Santien wants you in the infirmary as well. Please, my lady…"

Erynlith did not answer. She allowed Amardís to clean the dried blood off her wrist and even on her cheek where Thranduil had touched her. The cold touch of the cloth soothed her, and it relaxed her briefly. However, she refused to be admitted into the infirmary, not when King Oropher was around. What would she tell the King?

Speaking of the King, Oropher marched over to Erynlith after visiting the infirmary. He had seen enough of his son's terrible condition to stay long. As he approached her, he smiled warmly. "You look not so good yourself, dear girl. Shouldn't you be in the infirmary as well?"

"I am very sorry, my lord!" Erynlith said quickly, bowing her head too low. She was shaking with the King's wrath. "It is _my_ entire fault. He was not supposed to be in the forest. I brought the wargs back to him when I should have faced them myself. I was too scared to even help him right away. The fault in entirely mine, my lord, and I accept any punishment you deem worthy. If you wish to exile me from Greenwood, then so be it."

The words fell from her mouth too quickly that King Oropher needed a moment to process it. In his part, he was disappointed about what happened to them, especially to his son. But there was no one to blame. Both younger elves were hurt, and Oropher thanked the Valar for saving them. The King gently patted her head and smiled again.

"All is well, Erynlith," he said reassuringly. "Do not blame yourself. No one ever meant for this to happen. And Thranduil should be stable by now. He has been asking for you since he was admitted there."

She blinked. "Oh, no I couldn't interrupt him while he is resting. Perhaps later, my lord."

"He insists," Oropher said amusedly. "You know how demanding he can be. Despite his constant stubbornness to you, and maybe a little self-centered, he cares for you."

She didn't know how to take that statement. "Um, yes, and I care for him, too." Well, that went unplanned. She blanched when the words slipped and she felt like slapping her forehead. She sheepishly looked at the King, who understood her situation.

Oropher laughed. "Well, you should visit him later."

With that, he went off, followed by some of his attendants. Erynlith and Amardís went back to Erynlith's room for a good long rest. It was good thing Amardís was there to give her company, and the two quickly became friends even at their first meeting. When Erynlith had showered and given new set of clothes, her injured wrist was bandaged; she sank on her bed and fell into a dreamless oblivion.

* * *

Erynlith woke up in the evening and was told that the King wanted to share dinner with him. Amardís helped her in getting into fine clothes, and then she marched back to the banquet halls. The food was modest, and Erynlith ate little. Vegetables were served again, also wine. Her appetite subsided throughout the whole day, and she just wanted to feel better. She spoke little to the King, still feeling guilty about that morning's incident. But the King was ever friendly, and suggested that she should visit Thranduil in the infirmary. Oropher pressed that his son had been looking for her, and he was restless and demanding. Just like the usual Thranduil she knew.

After a small talk, Erynlith excused herself from dinner and went straight to the infirmary just as the King wanted. She was shaking all the way there, unsure of what to find. The place was dimmed with lighting, and Raithon and some of his guards stood by the doorway. Warmly, Raithon smiled at her, noticing her neatly bandaged wrist, and opened the door for her. Santien was with two other healers, but they were sitting on one corner. At the sight of Erynlith, the two healers dismissed themselves and went outside.

"Where have you been?" Santien asked in her familiar stern voice. Despite all the beauty that was her face, she was indifferent and as demanding as Thranduil. Even as an excellent healer, her demands scared Erynlith.

"Um, I was having dinner with the King…"

Santien nodded in understanding. She went for the doorway. "In that case, you should see him. He has been ticking me off the whole afternoon. Luckily, he got tired and fell asleep. Don't worry about his hands. They are gashed and should not be moved too much. Basically, Thranduil is fine." She explained anything that Erynlith might ask, and the younger elf nodded her thanks. Santien left the room to see Raithon.

Erynlith approached the bed. He was on the bed beside the window, and a small chair was provided on the other side. He was covered with white sheets, eyes closed and chest heaving lightly. Her eyes fell on his hands; both were wrapped in bandages. She sat on the chair, unsure of what do. For some reason, she reached out her hand, a shaking one at that, and brushed her fingers on his cheek in a feather-like touch. Of course, he did not move. He was deep asleep when she arrived. Her caress continued, and as the time passed, she felt more and more guilty. She stopped touching his cheek and her touch settled on his right hand. His hand flinched at her touch, and she looked up to him.

Thranduil was awake and smiling at her. His hand left her touch, and his index finger playfully tapped her nose. "Where have you been, little one?"

She smiled a little. "For some reason, everyone is looking for me the whole day."

"Well, you missed a lot of things today. Santien was really in her usual grumpy mood. Raithon was super talkative. And my father was doting on me." He let out a dramatic sigh. "Somehow, I needed your touch of eccentrics and glares."

"Well, if that is so, let me stay here and be as eccentric as I can be, tra-la-lay."

"That! That is exactly what I am waiting for." Thranduil sighed and sank back in his soft bed. He closed his eyes again. "Ah, now I feel better. Could you stay here with me for the rest of the tonight? I'm afraid Santien will have to stay and she might try to suffocate me. I won't risk that."

They both laughed.

"This is better, right?" he continued, opening one eye to peek at her. She looked confused, still unable to grasp his meaning. He sighed and shifted on his bed so that he would lie on his back, his right arm pillowed under his head, and him looking at her. "I mean, things are better when we are not arguing, don't you think?"

"Now that you've mentioned, it does sound nice." Erynlith scooted closer to the edge of the bed and leaned both her arms. "We can get along if you don't happen to be such a self-centered, narcissistic prince."

"You know self-centered and narcissistic mean the same thing," he pointed out.

"And if you don't happen to be sarcastic…"

"That's an understatement."

"And demanding…"

"Not every day though."

"And haughty…"

"What? No, I am not. I am extremely humble!"

She laughed. "And you are _so_ freakishly annoying…"

There was a bewildered look. "What? Whoa, hold up. Speak for yourself. You can be freakishly annoying, too."

"Like right now?"

"Yes! Like right now so stop it already. Can we go back to the part wherein we're actually starting to be _friends-friends_?"

She laughed again. "But we are 'friend-friends', but not _that_ kind of close friends, tra-la-lay…"

Thranduil finally sat up on his bed. He was surely entertained now, in the middle of the night, and this younger elf made it happen. The pain in his hands and back subsided, and his attention was focused all on her.

As he sat up, he looked at her with a cheeky smile.

"Maybe we should start with the nicknames. Good friends have nicknames with each other, don't they?" He didn't mean it, of course. It was all for the sake of messing with her.

Erynlith quickly recoiled from the bed, cringing at the idea of nicknames. "Don't even get me started on that! Nicknames are for children, for cliché people." She pouted at the memory of Erestor calling her pet names when she was just a child, with the dark-haired Captain of Rivendell cooing at her every once in a while. Her brother had adored her then, but now she seemed to be annoying to him.

"Oh, but it would be fun," Thranduil insisted, suppressing an incoming wider smile. "I can already think of a few nicknames for you. Let's say… _Eryn nin_, maybe?"

"What? No! Thranduil, stop it! Stop sounding like Erestor! You have no right to call me that! And _Eryn nin_? That sounds too cliché for a hundred year old elf! No, stop laughing! This is _not_ funny. You are _not_ funny! Thranduil!"

But he didn't stop laughing. He was already pressing a hand to cover his mouth, holding back his laughter, but it still echoed in the room. Erynlith huffed and stood up, only to be pulled back again by Thranduil. She yelped and dropped on the bed, her face burying on the white blankets. When she gasped, she snatched her wrist away from his grip and slapped his hand away.

"Okay, I get it!" Thranduil said in his defense. "No nicknames, of course. They do sound cliché, don't they? But I've been calling you names lately. Does that count? I can call you more insulting names that I can think of. That shouldn't sound cliché."

And the conversation continued. The two elves continued on and on about their idle talk, talking about nothing in particular. They talked about their lives, their dreams, some of their adventures, everything. The night had waned, and they kept on going. They began to see each other in a new light, not just some two elves insulting and annoying each other, but two friends. Their friendship started out will full of mindless games and secrets, now bound with their courage. The morning that started out as disastrous ended with a night filled with sarcastic remarks and laughter, and that friendship strengthened.

* * *

_Gwend_ is Sindarin for "friendship".

**Next Chapter:** Oropher openly mentions the upcoming War. Erynlith takes an initiative.

**Author's Notes:** Ah, another action-packed chapter. Hoped you did not mind! I really couldn't get enough of imagining Thranduil in action, after watching him fight in The Battle of the Five Armies. Aaaand, today is Valentine's Day. Did anyone get a Valentine today? Or am I the only one to spend the time daydreaming about my favourite elves?

***MoonlightArrow** \- Aww, thank you! And thank you for reviewing~!

***Asmodeus Black** \- For a while I was worried that shut down. (*ﾟﾛﾟ) Anyways, thank you for stopping by!

***xSiriuslyPadfoot** \- Don't worry. I'd give anything to be in Eryn's place too!

***KrystylSky** and **Lady Syndra** \- Yes, I do think wargs could be cute pets. Just imagine a little furry puppy running after you~ But then after some years, they would become really scary!

***Limbairedhiel** \- Oh, it's all right! I do not mind people reviewing to point out some mistakes. If you could tell me which particular mistakes I make, it would make me really grateful. I understand fangirling over Legolas; I fangirled over him as well during my early days in the LOTR fandom, and I still fangirl over him now. If Leggles looked at me in the eyes, I swear blood will flow from my nose! I've read your new baby story, too! I love the inclusion of Black Speech, though you really should have written more for the first chapter. Good luck with it!

***DeLacus** \- _*POLICE SIRENS* *HELICOPTER BLADES WHIRRING* *SPEAKING WITH A MEGAPHONE*_

"HALT! YOU ARE UNDER ARREST FOR STRIPPING WITHOUT THE CONSENT OF THE FANGIRLS! PUT YOUR CLOTHES BACK ON OR SO HELP ME I WILL DO IT MYSELF!"

Now, that's over. Hurray for Raithon's appearance! I kind of like him myself, too. But no hurray for the upcoming war! (T_T) #MyFeels

_For everyone's reading pleasure~_


	21. War is Coming

**Chapter 21**

_**War is Coming**_

* * *

"Where is Eryn?"

Thranduil had asked for the umpteenth time. A part of him wanted to annoy the healer Santien all morning, wanting to see her composure break before him, and another part simply wanted to know where his friend was. He was disappointed to wake up without her being beside him; he anticipated that she stayed all night looking after him. Instead, Santien and the two Silvan healers were back to attend to him. The bandages on his hands were redressed, and a healer helped him getting into fresh clothes. Breakfast was served, and Santien thrust her infamous medicinal tea.

He sniffed on the weird, gooey green concoction, and didn't wonder why Erynlith had refused it before. "Are you sure this is edible? It doesn't look like it," he told Santien, giving her an innocent look, and he almost smiled when she glared.

"If you want to get better, drink it," Santien ordered sternly. She was folding away from of the unused bandages after she ushered the two other healers away. She liked her quiet time in the infirmary, the very reason why she was there, and it sounded troublesome to her to have "guests". She was Greenwood's finest healer, the auburn-haired Silvan maiden, and it was obvious even for strangers to see. Her candidness never pushed Thranduil away. Instead, it pulled him back to her.

"Have you seen, Eryn?" He pressed again, as he reluctantly looked down on his supposed drink. Following the nickname conversation last night, he was finally able to insist on calling her that, just like Erestor and Amroth, and Erynlith had only sighed in defeat. There was always no way on winning an argument against him, especially when he was up for it.

Santien arched her elegant brow on that name, but shrugged it off afterwards. "She left early this morning, said Raithon. She could be wandering somewhere in the forest by now. You know her…"

"Ah," was all Thranduil muttered and gave one big gulp on the drink. He quickly retreated the cup from his lips, and he shuddered. "It tastes horrible! Don't you have anything better than this?"

"Apparently not," Santien answered.

"But it tastes nasty," Thranduil whined and chugged the drink again. It left a horrible taste in his mouth, and he had never been so thirsty for a wine before. "When can I leave? My hands feel better now. It's not like the wounds will open up and will bleed again…"

"Exactly," the healer said matter-of-factly. She placed her hands upon her hips and began lecturing him. "Until the wound is completely healed, you will not leave my sight. Knowing you, you might try overworking yourself. The King would punish me if that happened."

Thranduil leaned against the bed's head board. "You sound so talkative today, Santien. Did something happen? Did Raithon do any romantic gestures yet?"

The healer flinched at that, and she quickly glared at Thranduil. It was amusing for both of them. For a Silvan native as Santien, she had never trusted Oropher and his company of Sindarin elves. But as the years passed and the valor of the Sindar was shown, she acknowledged them and went into their service. None would have anticipated that she made friends with two Sindar, and consequently, fell for one of them. Raithon had always been there for her, and although their relationship was not as public as the next couple, there was respect and affection between them. And Thranduil often teased them about it.

"Those things are unnecessary," Santien said. "We are both busy with work, and we understand that."

"But he visits you often, does he not?"

"Yes, he does. After every morning and evening patrol, he visits here. Sometimes we share lunch together." There was an unusual smile on her face, and Thranduil noticed it.

"You're really chatty today, aren't you?" he repeated.

"Oh, give me a break, Thranduil. You are supposed to be worrying about your friend, right? It is really hard to keep track on her, especially when she suddenly disappears and appears out of nowhere. She has been into too much trouble lately. If she brings more in Greenwood, I will have to blame her." And Santien was not lying. She was starting to doubt Erynlith's presence in Greenwood. She knew the King and Thranduil liked Erynlith being there, even Raithon and the Elven-guard do, but with all the lingering orcs by the river, Santien became more doubtful. The wargs were not there before Erynlith and Erestor arrived, and it all happened a month ago.

"You are not allowed to blame her," Thranduil ordered. "She did not mean any of this. For one thing, I should have finished those wargs myself. There should still be a pack somewhere lingering in the forest. And…" Realization dawned. His eyes widened. "Call Raithon. Tell him to find and bring Erynlith back as soon as possible."

"Too late," Santien said nonchalantly, her eyes darted on the doorway. "She's coming."

And so, their little subject arrived in the infirmary, beaming at them like some child. The edge of her blue dress was blemished with soil and mud. She passed through Santien and quickly slumped on the chair beside Thranduil's bed.

"Morning, Eryn. Where have you been?" Thranduil asked.

"In the forest, tra-la-la," she sang happily.

"And what were you doing in the forest, tra-lo?" It felt childish for him to say that in a sing-song.

"I was supposed to get you some bluebells, like what I did when Erestor was in the infirmary. But then I realized it is already early winter, and no bluebells bloomed at this time of the year. So I found this instead. I thought you might like it though, tra-lo. Oh, I rhymed!" She beamed and pulled out a branch filled with green leaves. "It is winter and I found them in the forest. Peculiar, right, tra-la-lay?"

Thranduil laughed and took the branch. Indeed, the leaves were richly green. Erynlith took the red vase from the bedside and dropped the branch there, as though it was some kind of a flowering plant. Thranduil chuckled at her simple-mindedness and admired the beauty of the foliage.

"So," Erynlith's voice rang again, shifting his attention from the leaves to her. "What did I miss?"

"Santien's really talkative today," Thranduil answered quickly, and both elves turned to the healer, giggling like children.

"Stop it. Both of you."

* * *

Erestor was running back and forth in the valley. Sometimes he wandered why he allowed himself to be Elrond's seneschal in the first place. Not only did he act as Captain, but also the elf lord's primary advisor. The previous one had gone back to Lindon, and Gildor was not around to help. Erestor blamed Gildor for all his traveling quirks, leaving Imladris at the most crucial point. The golden-haired Ñoldo was supposed to be one of Elrond's many counselors, but no, he had to leave while Erestor and Erynlith were in Greenwood. Erestor was glad that Lindir was there to help, finishing all the chores that needed to be done, and even the Lady Celebrían was doing her part in the household. Imaldris was more bustling as ever, especially when the High King had sent them a message of warfare. The Dark Lord was moving in the far south, ransacking the kingdoms of Men as he pleased, and the High King wanted to get this over with. He had gathered many armies from all over Middle-earth, and Erestor feared that he had to fight in this war.

On his hand was another unfinished letter, something that he was not able to finish had Elrond not asked him of another task, and Erestor was panting. That morning he was at the barracks, preparing the warriors, in the afternoon he tried finishing a letter, and a few hours later, he was pouncing around Imladris in search for Elrond. At times he wished Erynlith was there to help him; even that eccentric excuse of an elf could be of help sometimes.

"Lord Erestor!" Celebrían called out from behind him.

Erestor turned and bowed swiftly, sweat dropping impolitely from his forehead. "My lady, can I do something for you?"

Celebrían shook her silver head and took the letter from his hand. "You are looking for Elrond, yes? I will take this letter and— oh, this is still unfinished. Don't worry, I'll finish this."

"But my lady," Erestor begged to differ, "the task was given to me. I cannot spend your time like that."

"You have more things to worry about," Celebrían insisted, smiling sweetly. "Elrond is in the observatory should you need him. His counselors are gathered there. Perhaps you should see them for yourself. Another message arrived that the armies from Lindon will come here."

Erestor could not believe it all. War would be right in front of his eyes soon. The armies of the High King were moving east, towards Imladris, and there would be hundreds of thousands of elves in the valley. As Elrond's seneschal, he would have to attend into all of these, and it made his knees weak. He looked at Celebrían, his mouth slightly gaping, but she smiled warmly. She was the hope of all that there was, and Erestor was happy that she was around.

"I should be going then," he said, bowing again to her. "Have a wonderful day, my lady."

"I will see you around, Erestor," Celebrían smiled and went off, her silver locks swaying as she moved.

When she disappeared from his sight, Erestor quickly rushed towards the observatory, his silver armor weighing him down. His dark hair was disheveled. The counselors looked up at his arrival, brows arching at the appearance of the captain; yet Erestor moved quietly towards Elrond and was welcomed by the elf-lord. They began discussing their strategy, just how the High King mentioned in his newly-arrived message. As time passed, Erestor felt the pressure crushing him. And then, he made a mental note. Once this war was over, he would not continue to be captain.

Someone would have to replace him.

* * *

"Are you sure about this, Adar?"

King Oropher and his trusty counselors were gathered in the King's throne room. All were silent, listening to what their King had to say, and Thranduil was finally allowed to leave the infirmary. Learning of the King's plan of joining the war, the Prince of Greenwood quickly got out of bed, despite the ranting of an auburn-haired healer, but he could care less. As he left, he took the branch of leaves from the red vase and took it with him in the throne room. The King's counselors looked at him incredulously; they wondered where the Prince had acquired the foliage. His hands were still bandaged, but his body was able for any battle that was needed.

Thranduil doubted the King's decision. Would they really march to battle, considering their scant armory and weaponry? The Silvan folk were not warlike as the Sindar and Ñoldor were, and what Thranduil wanted for them was safety. It was not their fault why war was marching on their doorstep. But what could he do?

"I received the message of Alliance, Thranduil," King Oropher answered carefully. The lighthearted king who played games was not there anymore. "King Amdír will do the same with us. He is already gathering his marchwardens for battle. We should do the same. Raithon already received the order. The Elven-guard is moving as we speak. As for our people, the construction of the northern fortress should begin. It should serve as sanctuary during the battle, if we finish it soon."

The counselors murmured and nodded among themselves. Thranduil watched them, his eyes narrowed. He could see them all agreeing to what the King said, and no one seemed brave enough to speak up. Even Erynlith's counselor friend was nodding. Thranduil rolled his eyes.

"But my lord," someone spoke up, and Thranduil sighed in relief when he heard the voice. He looked around and his eyes fell on the female dark-haired counselor. "The construction of the fortress will take years, and the War is already upon us. We will not make it in time. I advise that we leave someone in Greenwood, perhaps a quarter of the Elven-guard, to stay here and protect our people while the rest marched in the South."

Thranduil finally remembered her name. _Ah, Celairis: the King's seemingly favorite counselor._

All of a sudden, the King looked thoughtful, contemplating about the idea. The counselors murmured again and nodded and whispered. Thranduil growled; he never thought of his father's counselors as this useless, with the exception of Celairis. He was relieved to know that someone functioned well. The council continued until late in the afternoon. Word was sent to Raithon about Celairis' idea, and that the King wanted a quarter of the Elven-guard to be left behind in Greenwood. But the problem was: no one wanted to be left behind. All guards wanted to see battle, and even Raithon was unwilling to be left. It would be a hard decision for them, but the safety of Greenwood was their priority.

After the council, Thranduil left in search for Erynlith. She was back at the waterfalls, sitting cross-legged in front of the little den.

"What are you doing?" He asked, sitting beside her.

She frowned. "The foxes are not coming out."

"What do you mean?" He cocked his head to the side, a look of confusion written on his face. He picked up a pebble and rolled it down the small den. They waited for a response, but eventually, none came. Erynlith frowned even more, and it made Thranduil feel bad. He tried knocking on the den's arched roof, listening for any noise from within, but there was still nothing. He slumped back beside her. "Maybe they moved away…"

"Oh, that's too bad, tra-lay," Erynlith sang quietly.

He laughed it off. "Come on, now. Maybe they would return after winter."

"Or maybe the wargs scared them off?" She looked at him innocently. "Raithon said the wargs are still in the forest, and that one of his guards encountered them. Luckily the guard got away, but the warg pack remains somewhere in the forest."

Thranduil sighed exasperatedly. "I would have finished them if not for these stupid hands. Someone had to finish them off before the war breaks out. But Raithon is too busy with the preparations. The Elven-guard is deciding whether who will be left behind. They are all acting like children for taking too long to decide. They should get their priorities straight, and _someone_ has to finish those stupid wargs."

"Someone?" She repeated.

"How long do you intend to stay here?" Thranduil ignored her question.

"I have nothing to do in the palace, anyway. What did the King say?"

He shrugged. "Something about war, doesn't matter really. If the war breaks out, will you still stay here in Greenwood?" He hoped she would agree. He wanted someone to be waiting for him after coming from the war, someone to welcome him when he arrived in the forest. It was a simple hope.

"I don't know, tra-la," she answered truthfully. "I mean, I haven't heard from Erestor lately. Who knows what could be happening in Rivendell right now."

"Do you want to go home?"

"Not really, no. Do you want me to leave?"

Silence fell, laughter followed.

"Alright," Thranduil said, still chuckling. "Jokes aside. Come on, let's go back. I am starving." He pulled Erynlith back onto her feet and helped her dust off the leaves from her dress. He began to pull her away by her wrist, and she followed obediently.

"You are always starving." She laughed again.

"And you are no different, tra-la-la."

Her eyebrow arched. "Stop copying me, tra-la-lay."

"Oh, but it is fun, Eryn, tra-lilly-lo."

And they laughed again at the silliness.

* * *

Raithon was desperate to get some rest. The day was painfully exhausting for him and his Elven-guard. They had to meet the King's demands, and Raithon had to make sure all his guards were in good condition before their training would begin. He was thankful that Erynlith did not ask him about the archery training he had promised her. He also had to check Santien in the infirmary every once in a while.

Now, well now, he was piling up the remnants of the spent arrows that afternoon training. His guards were back in their chambers, but some were thoughtful enough to stay in the outpost.

"I'll have to consider getting another job after this," he grumbled, and suppressed a yawn coming up. The arrows he collected were dropped in a quiver, and he strapped it on his back. He picked up some bows scattered in the area, mumbling how his guards could be so careless. The armory was just behind the infirmary, and he thought of saying goodnight to Santien before going back to his chambers.

A soft neigh of a horse stopped him from his tracks. Raithon turned around with narrowed eyes. It was already too late in the night, and he could swear to the Valar he heard a horse. But the stables were much further away from where he stood, and surely no horse should be wandering at a time like this. Carefully, he dropped the excess bow and quivers from his person and approached the noise. The horse neighed again. He poked his head beside a tree, and his eyes widened when a certain black horse reared and sprinted off, its rider draped under a long grey cloak, but that umber hair was unmistakable.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** Late night hunting with Erynlith and our(?) favourite Captain of the Guards.

**Author's Notes:** Gee, I am so sorry for the late update! I was out of town for five days and I was indisposed for one day because of fever. We finally get to have an open discussion about the upcoming war with everyone's favourite Dark Lord, Sauron. (No offence for those fans who prefer Melkor/Morgoth; I like him more actually)(Wait! This is _Silmarillion_ stuff! Let's go back to LOTR.)

Moving on, I will apologize in advance. I have lots of research papers, speeches, and exams to take care of next week, so I will not be able to update any sooner. Hopefully, I would get enough time to update this and my other story. For now, please do enjoy this one!

***Asmodeus Black** \- LOL. Thank you!

***Evangeline Pond** \- Oh, that's very nice of you! And it's a pleasure to meet you!~

***Rousdower** \- Good to see you here again, Rousy! I missed you lots! Thrandy is such a sassy nickname. Wait, did I mention how I just _lurve_ your profile picture? Because I do! I really do! It's just like #FARamir and #NEARamir. LOL.

***DeLacus** \- Amardis sounds sweet. I want to be her friend. Haha! Thank you for stopping by!~

Once again, I thank you all for reading. Reviews are always welcomed.

_Hannon le._


	22. Reckless Imprudence

**Chapter 22**

_**Reckless Imprudence**_

* * *

Raithon was frozen.

What would he do? Call for the Elven-guard? For Thranduil? Or the King? For all night to be reckless, why did Erynlith choose this night, when he was exhausted and worn out?

He looked back and forth from the palace to where the black horse had gone off to. Then, he realized that he held a bow and a quiver in his hands. There was no time, he knew that. He had to do something before something terrible happened. For the first time in years, Raithon heavily cursed in Sindarin and ran after the trail of the eager black horse, bearing its equally eager rider with him. It was this time when Raithon was convinced about that Thranduil had said about her, that she was insane. He had no idea where she was going, but if Thranduil found out that she left, Raithon would not want to face the elven-prince in his late night wrath.

"_Good thing Santien keeps him locked in the infirmary",_ Raithon thought in relief.

* * *

Erynlith did not know, but she felt as if someone was following her trail. She looked behind her; the endless line of trees clouded her vision. There was no one there at all. Her horse Arcastar neighed and reared upon reaching the same river banks where she and Thranduil encountered the wargs. The place was abandoned; the corpses of the two wargs still lying there, and it had only been days. The uprooted tree was untouched. Warily, Erynlith dismounted Arcastar and swung the reins on a nearby tree, but never tied it. And Arcastar was obedient enough to stay behind as his rider disappeared into the trees.

She followed the northern course of the river, near the area where High Pass was adjacent. She anticipated the pack of wargs near there, and she was ready. Well, that was what she wanted to believe. It was not hard to find the tracks of the wargs, being creatures of immense size. Her travels with Gildor were bearing fruit, and she mentally noted to praise herself once she got back to Rivendell. As she walked abroad under the moonlight, she realized that she had been away from home for more than a month, and half of that time, Erestor was not with her. She had survived months of travels without him, but now, she missed him terribly.

A twig snapped behind her.

The bow was bent and an arrow notched, ready to be released.

The elf emerged from the shadow of trees, his palm raised in surrender.

Raithon.

Erynlith sighed and dropped her stance. Her task was yet to begin but her heart was already pounding. It was a relief that it was only Raithon. He had much quivers on his back, and at least two bows on both hands. Her eyebrow arched at his strange appearance, wondering why the Captain of the Guards had so many weapons in his person. He had two daggers behind his back and another hidden within his boot. It was almost fearful to walk beside him; he was a like a walking armory: dangerous and unpredictable. But his face was kind and welcoming, the look of distress was gone, and he was also relieved to see her.

"What are you doing so late at night? You know you could have chosen a better timing." The Sindarin Captain approached her with a warm smile.

She smiled back. His company was better than having to deal with Santien and her grumpiness. "Thranduil said someone had to finish the wargs off, and that you and the Elven-guard were busy. I have a lot of time in my hands, tra-lil-lay." But it was not all. Her guilt of putting Thranduil in danger haunted her, and she felt guiltier every time she saw his bandaged hands. He had assured her countless times that his hands were no problem at all, that the pain was gone, but it never assured her.

"He won't be happy if you go on your own," Raithon warned, but his smile was ever present.

"Oh, does that mean you won't leave me be?" Erynlith pressed, feeling slightly mischievous to play along with the captain. She had initially planned on doing this alone, whether it would cost her more than just an injured right wrist, but it was worth the try.

Raithon shook his head, walking towards her. "I have two bows and three quivers, see? I think you need me now more than ever. Just think of this as one of our archery sessions, and that we're playing a game."

"What game?" She gave him a curious look as they advanced into the darkness of the forest.

"The one who gets to kill more wargs win."

She smiled. "Bring it on, captain, tra-lo."

As they walked further, Erynlith could not help but sing under her breath, silently wishing she had brought her harp along with her.

_*"So still on her own_

_An elf alone_

_Singing as before_

_With flowers in hair_

_And voice fair_

_And slippers frail."_

Afterwards, the walk was silent and full of caution; Raithon had his bow and arrows ready at every step. From the river bank, they walked all the way towards the north, still following the Great River. The mountains of Greenwood were already on their sights, and the captain knew the wargs rested there. There was a forest clearing on the other end. He pressed a finger against his lips, indicating Erynlith to be quiet, and then pointed to the trees. Erynlith nodded in understanding. They climbed the trees as stealthily as they could, until they reached the very top of the trees. They moved from trees to trees, jumping on the large branch to another until the forest clearing was on sight.

Indeed, the wargs rested there. Some twenty of them, brown-furred and snarling as they slept. There were even a few cubs lying on the ground, scooting ever closer to their parents, but both elves knew this pack had to be terminated. Raithon guided Erynlith into notching her arrow, and indicated for her to aim at the largest of wargs. Erynlith finally understood. This task was of stealth, not speed or strength. What could two elves do against twenty immense wargs? The woodland trees were their comfort, their sanctuary, until the pack was finished.

"The large one," Raithon whispered, pointing his finger down to the sleeping brown warg at the head of the pack. "The alpha, that one."

Again, Erynlith nodded and carefully aimed her arrow.

"Aim for the head," Raithon instructed again. He notched his own arrow and released, hitting a different warg on the head. The creature let out a soft moan, and the elf knew it was dead. It would be easy to dispatch sleeping wargs than the wake ones. He continued his stealthy pursuit, dispatching the wargs one by one. But he saved the alpha for the last, waiting for Erynlith to strike it.

Her bow was shaking, just as her knees and fingers. She did not know why, but she could not release the arrow. Raithon was watching her with patience, wondering why his companion was hesitating. Almost all the wargs were finished, even the little ones, and the alpha and some others were left. But Erynlith feared. What if she missed? What if the alpha was awoken and attacked them? What if Raithon had to deal with her mistake, and then get injured afterwards? She glanced at him. Despite her brief time in Greenwood, she knew they were friends, like how she was friends with Santien, Amardís, and even Thranduil. Then, she remembered. What if Thrandiul blamed her for what would happen to his friend?

She felt a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Raithon was smiling yet again.

"You can do it," he whispered, guiding her hands back to the bow and to her previous aim. "Shoot now while the wind is steady."

She nodded and aimed again. She took a deep breath, the bow's string brushing against her lips and cheek, and her fingers tapped the limb of the bow. When she knew she was ready, the arrow was fired. Things went smoothly, until the wind from the north howled. The moving arrow dwindled and instead of the head, it pierced the alpha's ear. The warg's eyes shot open and it howled menacingly. Its cries echoed in the forest and wakened the remaining members of its pack.

In an instant, Raithon went to his stance. He pulled Erynlith back onto the tree, shadowing themselves under the cluster of dried leaves. His hand covered her mouth to suppress a gasp coming out. He felt Erynlith shaking under his touch, the horror of her mistake crawling there unseen. Below them, the wargs growled and howled, sniffing on the ground for their ambushers. Slowly, Raithon withdrew his hand from her mouth and motioned that she stay quiet. She nodded, and he crawled back to see the wargs with his own eyes.

Checkmate.

The large alpha jumped from its hind legs, mouth wide open, as it was ready to tear the elf captain apart. The jump was an inch short, and Raithon gasped, scrambling back to Erynlith. The wargs continued to pounce around the tree, clawing on the large tree trunk. The elves felt the tree shaking and the trunk wavering with the force. The alpha jumped again and bit off a large section of the tree, exposing the elves behind the foliage. In that instant, Raithon pulled Erynlith by the hand and jumped off to a another tree. The wargs shifted and jumped again. Raithon's foot was caught against the breaking branches, and he fell in the middle of the raging wargs.

"Raithon!" Erynlith called out from the tree, her eyes searching for the captain. He fell flat on his back, moaning, and then rolled out of the way when a warg attempted to crush him with a large clawed paw.

The tree shook again, and Erynlith gripped a branch. The alpha was roaring with anger and rattled the tree trunk even more, and the trunk let out creaking noises. Not long after, the tree fell and Erynlith had to jump off. She fell hard on the ground. She moaned and tried to grip her bow back.

Not far from her, Raithon screaming her name. He was cornered by three wargs, pressing him against the uprooted trees, but his arrows were all spent, and those in his quiver were scattered on the ground. Quickly, Erynlith picked one and aimed, luckily hitting one warg on the rear. The creature howled and turned to her. Then, Raithon was back on his feet, tackling the two other wargs before running past them. He collected his bow and arrow back, and both elves continued firing.

"This is just like archery training all over again!" Raithon laughed merrily as the three wargs finally fell dead on the spot.

Erynlith panted and turned to him worriedly. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

Raithon examined himself, and then shook his head. "Not that I can think of."

They collected the arrows again until the alpha returned to chase them off. It bared its fangs against them, saliva dropping in the process, but Raithon shrugged it off and gestured for Erynlith.

"All yours."

She looked at him incredulously. "What?"

"You can finish it off while it's still not moving."

The alpha warg sprinted onto its feet as Erynlith panicked to get some arrows. Beside her, Raithon was just calmly standing here. Just as the warg pounced for the kill, Erynlith fired an arrow and hit the throat. The warg fell down, embedding the arrow deeper into its throat, and it gagged for air. It writhed and howled and clawed the ground until it stopped breathing.

Erynlith panted and dropped the bow.

It was finally over.

Raithon congratulated her, smiling and laughing at her success. Really, she did not know why the captain was too optimistic about it. Perhaps that was how Raithon really was, energetic and laidback for the Elven-guard's Captain.

After a short while of rest, the two elves agreed to march back to the palace. It would be a long walk, since they had left Arcastar near the river banks. The Sun was rising when they reached the borders of the Elvenking, and the guards from the outpost crowded them. The guards told them about what happened, that the King and the Prince found out about their little mission when Arcastar returned, rider-less.

The elf guards quickly brought them back to the palace where the King was waiting. And Erynlith gulped, readying herself for what immediate punish the King would bestow on her.

* * *

Thranduil could care less if he was practically shoving the people in front of him. He had heard enough to even ask for questions. When one of the elf guards rushed in the King's throne room to announce the arrival of the Captain of the Guards, Prince Thranduil literally pounced on his feet and rushed outside, not letting the guard to finish his announcement. The Silvan elves who blocked his way made him irritable, but as soon as they found out that it was the Prince who was passing, they instantly made way. He was, in no time, in the front line of the crowd, his blue eyes quickly catching a glimpse of Erynlith.

In an instant, she cowered behind Raithon, tightly clutching on his sleeve as Thranduil stomped towards them, seething. And Raithon straightened up for the girl's defense, meeting his friend's icy gaze. The Prince glared at him, but without words, he quickly snatched Erynlith from her grasp on the captain and admitted her into a bone-crushing embrace. She gaped, and so did Raithon. But the situation was not just any other of his games anymore.

Thranduil was shaking, and Erynlith felt more horrible.

His still-bandaged hands clutched her shoulder and waist tightly, his head buried on the crook of her neck. She felt uncomfortable, especially with all the Silvan folk watching them, whispering among themselves, but she knew Thranduil did not care.

"How dare you…" He began in broken, sharp whispers. "How dare you… leave the palace without me…" He was still shaking uncontrollably. "How dare you leave and make me worry, you disgusting trouble…"

Erynlith could not answer. Slowly, Thranduil broke the embrace and held her face between his hands. He studied her face, her body, if she was hurt or anything, and he sighed in relief.

"Someone had to finish them off, tra-la-," she sang simply, trying to sound casual and cheerful.

At that remark, he smiled weakly. "You are so troublesome. I think I might just tie you to the bed or something." They both laughed, and Thranduil brushed his lips against her brows, sighing deeply. He embraced her yet again, gentler this time, and then kissed her hair.

Behind them, King Oropher arrived, followed by Celairis and the other counselors. The King's eyes softened at the sight, and asked someone to call Santien. The healer arrived right away, assessing Raithon if he was injured, and was surprised and relieved that he was not. After a while, Thranduil pulled Erynlith back into the palace, looking for her attendants, and they both proceeded to her room. Amardís and Santien arrived to check on Erynlith, and the Prince stood by to watch them.

"She's not hurt," Santien whispered to him while Erynlith and Amardís were talking. "Just a scratch maybe, but she's fine. You have to give her some rest, Thranduil. Don't keep her up too late." She was glaring, and the Prince laughed it off.

When Santien and Amardís had left, no words fell between Erynlith and Thranduil. They never had to speak with each other. With just glances and gestures, they knew that they needed. He sat on her bedside, occupying a small chair that was provided, as Erynlith sank under the covers. The night was cold, and she shuddered. And Thranduil kept on watching her, waiting until she fell asleep from the silence. Soon, she dozed off.

He gently raked his fingers through her umber hair and watched the light rise and fall of her chest under the covers. His eyes fell on her bandaged right wrist, comparing his hands to it.

"You are the most unbelievable," he whispered and kissed her forehead.

He would stay there with her, and the thought of greeting her in the morning excited him.

* * *

A few days later after that incident, rumors began to spread in the whole of Greenwood, much to Erynlith's annoyance and to Thranduil's amusement. The Silvan folk had been whispering about Erynlith and Raithon's stunt with the warg pack. Rumors had gone too far, and the imaginative Silvan had come up with such a name that made Erynlith cringe whenever she heard it.

_Erfaron_.

And she regarded it as ridiculous. She was not alone when she had faced the wargs; Raithon was with her! But no, the Silvan insisted in calling her Erfaron, and it was much amusing for Thranduil, knowing her great aversion to nicknames.

Adding fuel to the fire, Raithon had exaggerated the story of their midnight hunt and insisted that Erynlith had taken care of all the wargs by _herself_, befitting the name Erfaron all the more. She would have confronted the Captain of the Guards about it, but whenever she left the palace, the Silvan would crowd around her and call her over and over again.

One day, it made the Prince decide not to call her by any other names than _that_.

"So…" Thranduil simpered at her, grinning widely. "…Erfaron, huh?"

"Shut up, Thranduil."

* * *

_Erfaron - Lone Hunter_

*Little Princess Mee - J.R.R. Tolkien (With little revisions)

**Next Chapter:** The Host of the Alliance finally arrives in Greenwood. Big decisions have to be made, and fast.

**Author's Notes:** I rise from the one-and-a-half hell week in college! It was difficult, arranging papers and doing research, and stuff. Finally, it has come into an end. I can update chapters every once in a while, so remember to always check for news!

Here we have Erynlith and Raithon doing some action stuff, because I was looking for an excuse to have Raithon in action. Elves always do fights so beautifully.

***Evangeline Pond** \- I was talking about Raithon, but then again, Tauriel is an awesome Captain of the Guards as well!

***Rousdower **\- Before you prance away, could you get me Thorin so I can pinch his cheeks as well?

***Asmodeus Black** \- Aw, thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	23. On Our Doorstep

**Chapter 23**

_**On Our Doorstep**_

* * *

**S.A. 3434**

A year had passed. The preparation for the war had come to an end. Everyone was ready to make their final stand against the Dark Lord: Elves and Men alike. The High King had marched off his from his west coast with thousands of armies following under his silver and blue banner, elven-horns sounded at the thundering hooves of their cavalcade. For months they travelled towards East until they had reached the house of Elrond. And Imladris was more bustling than ever.

Elrond's household was made ready for the sheer amount of warriors. The armories were refilled with thousands of swords, bows, and shields, of armors and of mail-shirts. The forges were almost broken and the best blacksmiths were put to work twenty four hours a day. Scouts were sent everyday to patrol the valley, training was commenced every morning, and Elrond and the High King would always be with their counselors. Countless messages were sent to Lórinand and to Greenwood, messages of alliance and warfare, and the two Sindarin Kings would always answer to them.

Months after the arrival of the High King in Imladris, the whole Alliance moved on again, this time, travelling eastwards. They took the High Pass, and with their thundering company, the enemies that lurked there cowered in the darkness. Arriving in Greenwood, the Elvenking admitted them into his kingdom, and King Amdír and Amroth of Lórinand were also there. Formalities were shared among the Kings, two Sindarin against the Ñoldorin High King. The Silvan folk were admitted safely in their fortress, while the Elven-guard did their duty.

In Greenwood, Erestor wanted to go, having not heard of someone he loved for months. She stayed there, that Erynlith, and she seemed contented in living there as the Elvenking's guest. She had earned the outmost respect of the Silvan folk there, and she was called by them as "Erfaron", following her incredible feat against the warg pack on one winter night. Whatever followed after that incident, Erestor did not know, and he did not care. He often wondered why the Prince of Greenwood kept her in the forest for too long, not even trying to visit Imladris in those months that had passed. It made Erestor quiver and paranoid, his imagination taking him beyond its limit.

Finally he found her, standing in the middle of the crowd, beside the Prince and the Captain of the Elven-guard. She was clad in the same fashion as the elf guards, in green tunic and black trousers, and her back was turned against him, but Erestor knew her of all people. This was the girl he raised, a daughter turned into sister after hundreds of years. He studied her. Nothing seemed to have changed. Her umber hair was longer, a bow on hand and a quiver on her back.

"Erynlith," Erestor called out, not wanting to attract other's attention.

In that split second, she turned, her eyes narrowing in search for who might have called her. Erestor stepped up, making himself visible among the armored elves, and watched as her eyes widened in realization. She quickly rushed towards him, that abrupt movement shifting Thranduil's attention, and she jumped into Erestor's welcoming arms.

"Erestor!" She beamed as the captain spun her around, laughing quietly. She kissed his cheek and clung onto his neck like a child. "I missed you really, really much! Why didn't you visit me here in Greenwood? Were you so busy? Or was there someone in Imladris that caught your attention and I have to be jealous of?"

He laughed and shook his head. "What are you saying? There is no one in Imladris that could replace you, Eryn. I was really too busy. And you didn't even visit once! What is up with that?"

"Well, the King really didn't want me to leave, tra-lay," she said and glanced back. Thranduil was watching them, and their eyes met. She turned again to Erestor, removing her arms from his neck. "War is really breaking out, isn't it?" Her brother did not answer. She looked at him worriedly. "Are you going, too?

"I might," he said quietly, already sounding remorseful about it.

Finally, Thranduil walked towards them. He looked formal, like the Prince of Greenwood that he was. His robe was long and maroon, a slender sword dangling lightly about his hips, and his hands were behind his back. At Erynlith he made no acknowledgement; his eyes were staring at the dark-haired Captain of Rivendell.

"Lord Erestor," he began, his voice deep. "It has been a while since you stepped in our domain."

"Yes, Prince Thranduil, but it would be more appreciated if Erynlith was allowed to return to Rivendell even just once? She does not have any commitment in Greenwood, does she?" Erestor wanted to reclaim her as soon as possible, have her back in Imladris, and wait with Lady Celebrían and the others.

Thranduil chuckled thoughtfully. "It is not much of a commitment, but Erfaron was given a position in the Elven-guard, an offer that she could not decline."

Her eyebrow twitched at that name. She had strong aversion to nicknames, to titles, or anything of the sort. And Thranduil knew it very well, only that he liked spending his time annoying her with it. Nothing changed between them for the past months. Their daily morning routine in the forest continued until King Oropher had made her one of Raithon's scouts. And she accepted, wanting to get a new taste in her life. Being a scout was not a difficult task at all, and all the other guards were friendly with her. She continued staying in her chambers in the palace, and Amardís, although not her attendant anymore, visited her often.

"_Erfaron_," Erestor drawled, the name left a bad taste in his mouth. It was bad enough that Erynlith was a member of the Elven-guard, and now she was called completely by another name. _Ridiculous_, Erestor thought. He could not help but ask. "Will she be participating in the upcoming battle?"

There was a strong disapproval in Thranduil's eyes.

"No," he answered quickly and sternly, and Erynlith was not surprised. It was the last thing she had on mind: march to Mordor and challenge the Dark Lord. Just thinking about it made her shiver. "She will stay here with a quarter of the Elven-guard while the Captain Raithon will come with us."

Ah, that was the original plan. Oropher had spent countless nights with Thranduil, Raithon, Celairis, and all the other counselors about this. The northern fortress that the Elvenking wanted to build for his people was not even started, prompting the Silvan folk to stay hidden in their fortress in the South. A quarter of the Elven-guard would stay behind to protect the Silvan folk, while the rest would follow the King to war. And that was why Oropher gave Erynlith a position in the Elven-guard, so that she would stay behind. He never received a complaint from her; she was too willing to be left behind. Oropher had mustered some thirty thousand of his folk, and another ten thousand from King Amdír of Lórinand.

"Join us in the conference halls," Thranduil offered to Erestor. "Everyone will be moving there. I heard from the High King that the Alliance will stay here for another month to refill your supply of food and drinks. In that case, you will have more time to catch up some stories from Erfaron. For now, follow me." He glanced at Erynlith before he left, and Erestor had to follow the Prince.

Erynlith waved at him and watched them leave.

Now that she was alone, she was determined to see Santien. Perhaps the healer felt lonesome, with Raithon being busy and all. No one had visited the infirmary for quite a while now, and Santien never left that place. She was too introverted to get herself involved in events like these.

As Erynlith wandered in the halls, she absentmindedly turned on a corner and bumped into a hard steel-plated armor. She recoiled from the impact, gripping her aching nose. She moaned lowly and opened an eye to see what who it was.

The High King looked worried and rushed towards her; his hands were in midair attentively. "Forgive me, dear child," the King said in an amiable voice. "I did not see you coming. Tell me, where does it hurt?"

She quickly shook her head and flailed her hands. "Oh, no, my lord, please! All is well. I am not hurt." She dipped her head in a low bow, feeling stupid in front of the Ñoldorin King. Why was it that she met someone important, she always made an utter fool of herself? She heard the dark-haired High King laugh good-naturedly above her. She had almost forgotten how warm and welcoming he really was.

They had met long before. When she was finally allowed by Erestor to travel with Gildor, the wandering company made a stop in Lindon, and the High King welcomed them all. She was young back then, unaware that the elf in front of her was a king. It was already late when she found out, but she remembered the King laughing it off, calling her a child. But she was no child. She was young, but _not_ a child. She remembered the King ruffling her hair back then, how he used to invite her to dinner with him and Círdan and Celeborn.

And the High King in front of her was no different from the one she met a hundred years ago. Although there might be war coming up soon, he was still as friendly and warm as Erynlith remembered.

"Your hair is longer," the King mused, gesturing on her unkempt umber hair.

She smiled thoughtfully, twirling a lock. "Yes, well I haven't had time to cut it off. It is quite a nuisance for a scout like me, tra-lay."

"It looks better that way." The King smiled and began to walk past her. "I must see the others. I will see you later, perhaps at dinner, dear child."

With that, he ruffled her hair, just like he always did, and then disappeared into the hallways, his blue cloak disappearing with him.

* * *

In the next few weeks that followed, Raithon was busier with his Elven-guard. Thirty thousand Silvan archers from Greenwood, and another ten thousand from Lórinand under the command of Prince Amroth and a marchwarden. Raithon himself had countless lieutenants and lower ranked officers. Thranduil prepared the fortress for their departure, making sure his people would be supplied with enough livestock while they were gone. He guided Celairis on doing this task, as he did not trust the rest of his father's counselors. The Kings were always together, always in deep conversation, always serious. It was as though no one could come up to them without interrupting such an important discussion. Erestor found himself in the middle of this; he was Elrond's right hand at the moment, and the captain wished someone would replace him soon.

The departure day was coming. The whole of Greenwood was in great tense. The warriors were restless. What if they would never see their family again? What if they lost the battle? The High King prevented them from thinking about such a way. On their last night in Greenwood, the wine cellars of the Elvenking were broken down and there was a feast under the trees. Fire was set in the heart of the merry-making. Tables were filled with different kinds of food, and the wine varied in tastes. Silvan minstrels sang their songs, warriors took their time drinking and dancing, and even the High King enjoyed himself for the last night.

"Do you think we can achieve victory?" King Amdír whispered to Oropher. His eyes were carefully watching as Amroth conversed with the other warriors, particularly with Raithon. "These Ñoldo are what concerns me. We are Kings in our own rights. Should we really let the self-proclaimed High King lead us into battle?"

Oropher sipped from his drink and shook his head. "Nay, my friend. We are Kings, after all. No king should ever submit to another king. Remember that." He was too proud to admit that the High King was more supreme than they are, being kings of only the simple and native Silvan elves. Oropher had to hold on to what supremacy he had left.

"And your son? Is he ready for battle?" Amdír kept the questions coming. He knew Amroth was ready, despite being reluctant to leave his Nimrodel at first. He wondered if Thranduil was the same with his niece, if ever there was something between them.

"He is," Oropher answered confidently. He knew how his son had become attached to Erynlith in the last months, but there was nothing odd between them. "He is willing to leave Greenwood and join us for battle. He has seen and experienced much. I believe he is more than ready to face war."

The conversation between the Sindarin kings continued just as Thranduil left the merrymaking. He was tired of all the festivities; the music made his ears numb, and all the idle chat with the other warriors bored him. He would have talked to Erestor, though; he found the captain more engaging in conversations than Amroth was. All the other prince could mention was Nimrodel, and Thranduil was not even interested. He tried looking for Erestor, to ask him questions, but the captain was busy with the High King and Elrond. And Thranduil would never want to spare a few words with the High King. He approached one minstrel, asking for someone, and the minstrel kindly told him exactly what he wanted to hear.

"I saw Erfaron in the meadow a few moments ago," the elf said.

"Thank you," Thranduil answered and went off.

The Silvan elves had gotten used to calling her Erfaron, something that annoyed her for the first weeks following the warg incident, but Erynlith had sighed and accepted the fact that she could not change it anymore. Even the King Oropher referred to her as such, Raithon, Santien, and even Amardís. The name found its way to Lórinand, and Nimrodel was convinced to call her the same. _Erfaron_. It was amusing to see Erynlith grumble and roll her eyes at that name, and Thranduil spent most of his time annoying her.

He found her sitting cross-legged in the middle of a field of bluebells, the very first place where they met.

"Good evening, Erfaron," Thranduil greeted. "Enjoying the festivities, aren't we?"

Erynlith rolled her eyes and threw a stone at him. "Erfaron here, Erfaron there, tra-la-la. Enough with it, tra-lo. I miss being called Erynlith. So far only Erestor has called me that. Even the High King called me a child." She sighed and flopped on the ground, her arms stretched. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be entertaining people?"

"About that…" He sighed, sitting cross-legged beside her; his arms supporting his upper weight. "I have had with your cousin's endless rant about Nimrodel, how perfect her hair is, or how sparkly her eyes are." He shuddered and Erynlith laughed.

"When he starts talking about her, it would certainly take hours to make him finish. Quite annoying, really, tra-la."

Thranduil laughed with her. His eyes fell on the piece of cloth in her hand, and he pointed his finger at it. "May I see that?"

She sat up once again and showed him the green and silver pennant in her hand. It had a short grey rope on both ends, and a heraldic device was drawn in the middle. It was a diamond and had the image of a tree, with green leaves and silver flowers curling about it. There were also stars, three silver stars on each corner of the diamond. Thranduil ran his fingers on the device, his eyes widening in remembrance. The emblem was so painfully familiar.

At the lower corner of the pennant, an embroidered name written in Tengwar was present. He read the name, and his breath hitched up in his throat.

"Cúthalion," he whispered, looking up at her.

Erynlith simply shrugged and took the pennant from him. "King Amdír had this in his keeping for years, after my parents left. It seemed my father had things for heirlooms. This pennant belonged to my father's father, but it doesn't really matter, does it? It is mine now, tra-lo."

"Why do you have strong aversion talking about your lineage?" Thranduil asked out of curiosity. For the years he spent with her, she never mentioned the name of her parents.

Again, she shrugged. "Am I obliged to talk about it? Sorry, I don't do back stories, tra-lil-lay."

"You have bitter memories about it?" He pressed his luck with her.

"No." She snorted. "For one thing, I love everything in my life. I do not blame Erestor for my parents leaving. People leave all the time. There is no need to be such a wuss about it. I am contented."

"I am glad you are." Thranduil smiled at her. "And I hope you'll still be contended once we leave tomorrow?"

All of a sudden, she fell silent. Fear was creeping into her again. She was not participating in the battle, but almost everyone she knew would: Erestor, Elrond, Raithon, Amdír, Amroth, Oropher, Thranduil, and even the High King. It was like a one-way trip to Mordor. Whatever horror that would await the Alliance, even Erynlith was afraid of it. And she knew why that pennant was returned to her. Should anything befall on King Amdír and Amroth, the heirloom was passed to her. It was a ridiculous thought, to anticipate your own death before even marching to war. But she also knew that the King was cautious, just like he had always been, and wanted the best for her. She feared for all of them.

"Can we save the farewells for tomorrow?" Erynlith asked hopefully, looking at him in the eyes.

He nodded mournfully. "Will you really let me say goodbye to you? What if I don't come back?"

She placed her hand on top of his, a reassuring gesture.

"Believe me. You will come back, Thranduil."

* * *

**Next Chapter:** Farewells are exchanged.

**Author's Notes:** I am not looking forward on writing the war, but it has to be done. With a lot of deaths, too! There would be lots of feels for me. (T_T)

***Asmodeus Black** \- Aw, I'm glad you liked it! Thank you for reading!

***Oriana5** \- From the start, I never planned on including Eryn in the war, mainly because I didn't want her to get all the attention throughout the battle. Besides, that war is the highlight of many important elves (our Sindarin buddies plus Elrond and Gil-galad). Anyways, thank you for reviewing! ( ˘ ³˘)

***Evangeline Pond** \- Hooray for killing-wargs-for-fun! \\(• ◡ •)/

***Limbairedhiel** \- First of all, thank you for two reviews! It's really nice to have you back here! Aww, Thrandy with a princeling crush on a girl who only has eyes for Erestor and her horse (His name is Arcastar, by the way).

You want a Thrandy-hug? That would be $89.99, plus $5 for a nuzzle on the neck, and $50 for hiding behind Raithon. But really, I would melt instantly if Thranduil so much as looked at me.

***Rousdower **\- *protectively hugs Thorin* Don't be so rude! He is not _that_ disgusting! Well, he could use a bath or two, so... Wait! Come back here! *frantically waves money* Don't you want your payment for delivering Thorin?!

***xummy10** \- Reading all through 22 chapters must have been tedious! Thank you so much! Lemme hug you! d=(´▽｀)=b

***DeLacus** \- Yay, you dropped two reviews as well! Other than Melkor and Mairon, I also love Namo (aka Mandos) and Arien as Vala and Maia.

If you want Raithon, I could give you a 30% discount on him, since he is quite popular. Limbairedhiel could have Thrandy and you could have Raithon. *le gasp* WHO WANTS TO BUY ERESTOR?! *clears throat* Moving on, thank you for dropping by!~

_For everyone's reading pleasure. Thank you!_


	24. Parting is Always Sad

**Chapter 24**

_**Parting is Always Sad**_

* * *

The wait was over. It was time for the Alliance to march off again.

Long before the Sun had risen, Erestor called forth all his warriors. The fields of Greenwood were golden with the warriors' armors. Horses were mustered by their riders; supplementary weapons were carried. The horns blew early in the morning, and metallic footsteps pounded the ground. Oropher's Silvan folk huddled into their comely houses; wives attending to their scared elflings. Their fathers would march off to war, and perhaps it was their last time to see each other. The atmosphere was heavy with intensity.

As the morning broke and the Sun rose, the commanders of the colossal army showed themselves. Elrond, Círdan, and the High King were in golden armors, their capes blue, and their circlets silver. But the Sindarin elves were clad in lesser armors. King Oropher wore his crown of berries upon his silver head.

The elven-horn blew again.

Erynlith and Santien went outside to see the army off. The soldiers were marching away, their captains on each head of the lines, and Santien looked for Raithon. They had said their farewells and promises last night, but she wanted to see him off for the last time that day. Erynlith found him, standing in the middle of many other captains, and she called out to him, waving an arm. Raithon smiled and jogged towards them. He quickly embraced Santien, whispering endearments into her ear, and the usual aloof healer smiled weakly at her lover. She had accepted his fate as captain, and that he had to leave her for the war. She was so proud of him and there were no words for that.

Quietly, Erynlith slipped away from the two lovers, and she went off to search for her other friends. She felt someone grab her wrist, and she turned to see Erestor.

She threw her arms around him, and he embraced her like he always did. He had less time to spare than Raithon, and he had said his goodbye to her last night. He wanted to see her before leaving; there was no turning back in this one. He was scared, for himself, for his friends, and for her. He wondered what she would do without him, if she could pick up the lost pieces of the war. Would she return to Rivendell without him? Erestor tried to push those thoughts away and focus on her. He knew they were both strong, although in different aspects, and he knew they could handle this together.

"You are not going to cry on me, are you?" He teased and released her from the embrace. She pounded his chest, and he laughed. "What? No final remarks?"

She shook her head. "I know you're about to do the impossible, but I expect you soon. Do you hear me?"

It was all Erestor needed for motivation. He nodded and smiled. He bent to plant a kiss on her brow, and he cupped her cheeks. This girl had been with him for as long as he could remember, and he would return for her.

"I'll see you real soon. I love you, Eryn. Forever."

She laughed. Erestor was not the one for affectionate words, and it felt ridiculous to hear him say that. He was rather shy and conservative. Despite his sharp silver tongue, he preferred to stay quiet and thoughtful. He would not speak unless spoken to, or provoked at some point by Erynlith. To hear him say something sweet and unexpected, Erynlith could not help but laugh and it made Erestor conscious of his words. There was nothing romantic by those words, only familial love for hundreds of years.

Erestor glared at her.

"Okay, I'll stop." She pressed her lips before continuing. "I love you too, Erestor. A lot, actually."

With one last embrace, Erestor sped off to Elrond's side. Erynlith was left to stand on her own, in the middle of the marching soldiers. Her eyes searched for someone else, and she caught glimpse of Amroth's golden hair. He was looking at her, despite the great distance between them. He stood beside his father, and he was smiling and waving his hand at her. She smiled and waved back, and watched as Amroth whispered to his father. King Amdír turned to her, smiled, and whispered something. She could not hear the words, but she followed the movement of the lips.

"_We would see you after the war."_

It made her heart ache. Suddenly, she didn't want them to leave. It was a foolish child's wish, for her loved ones to stay, but it was too late for that. She saw King Amdír smile and bow at her, and in response, she smiled back. The monarchs of Lórinand left to follow the line of Erestor's company. The armies of Greenwood moved as well, under the command of Raithon and his other lieutenants. Erynlith saw the silver-haired King Oropher marching in front of the line, but he was alone; the Prince of Greenwood was not with him.

Erynlith found Thranduil with Celairis, the King's counselor. They were having a deep conversation, and she wouldn't want to interrupt them. She continued standing, watching, and waiting. The Sun had fully risen, and the armies were disappearing into the horizon. When she turned back to see them again, Celairis was standing alone. Erynlith's brow furrowed, wondering where Thranduil had been.

"Erfaron," he called out to her.

She realized that he had been standing behind her all along and waited until most of the army was gone. Thranduil was clad in a simple green and brown armor, the pauldrons were modeled to look like tree bark, and his vambraces were leather but light. His slender sword upon his waist, his bow and quiver in place. He looked ready for battle, and his blue eyes looked terrifying.

Erynlith walked up to him until they were only a few inches between them. She could already feel him shaking, his heaving chest, and his grinding of teeth. She knew he was frustrated with himself. Slowly, she took his hand and placed something there. When Thranduil flinched, he looked at his palm and saw the her green pennant there, along with a small bluebell. He gave her a confused look, his mouth gaping at her. But she only shook her head. It was always like that. They never had to speak. And Thranduil was trying so hard to find the words when he was not even supposed to. There were not enough words to put this farewell.

"Do you really have to go?" Her voice was shaking.

Thranduil softened at her words. His battle-ready demeanor faded, and he reached out to brush his fingers against her cheek.

"War was never an option, but we have to fight to the end."

He looked down at the pennant in his hand and gave her a confused look.

"To remember me by," Erynlith answered. "It is kind of a good luck charm actually."

"And the bluebell?" He smirked.

"To lighten up your mood, tra-la." She laughed softly. Then, she took his bow and tied the grey rope of the pennant on the bow's limb. "There. Don't lose it, okay? My folks didn't save that for years only to be lost."

"I understand," he whispered and tucked the bluebell in his quiver. "I don't have something to give you."

"You don't have to. Just be back soon. And take care of everyone."

She ran her thumb across his cheek, and he sighed at her feather-like touch. He leaned his forehead against hers. Their eyes closed instinctively at the contact. They felt each other's soft breathing, and slowly, he embraced her. He kissed her hair and twirled a lock of that thick umber hair. They spoke no words for a few minutes as Thranduil's arms around her were firm, and Erynlith melted in that embrace. As time passed, it made farewell more difficult for them.

At last, the elven-horn sounded again. He flinched in surprise and was reluctant to let go, but it was Erynlith who broke away. She was smiling at him, and he couldn't help but brush his fingers against her lips. She shivered at his touch, but said nothing.

Suddenly, he wanted to do something foolish.

Slowly, he leaned in, his forehead touching hers again, but she still did not move. Their noses brushed, and finally, he felt her flinch. His lipes aimed lower. And as he felt her faint breathing from her lips, he pulled away, ashamed. Instead, he kissed her forehead.

Erynlith ignored it. "If it is not too much to ask, please watch over Erestor and Amroth for me. And probably King Amdír as well." She would be lost without them.

Thranduil nodded. "Remember me and smile."

"Always."

He smiled at her and returned to his father's side. King Oropher had been patient with their farewell. He thought leaving Erynlith behind to defend Greenwood was the best choice, and he was surprised that Elrond and the High King agreed with him. Oropher was never in good terms with the High King, believing him a dominant ruler of Elves. But this war had to be done quickly. The long company Greenwood and Lórinand marched off and disappeared.

Once again, Erynlith was left alone, but the farewell had not yet ended. The High King approached her with a smile, the same warm smile he offered when they met a few weeks ago. In respect for him, she bowed low and addressed him as Lord.

"You have grown independently, dear child," the High King told her.

She straightened herself and smiled. "I am ready for the world."

"Of course, you are." The King smiled again. He knew where this battle would end. He had accepted Elrond's hint that he would not have eternal life in Middle-earth. He was counting his remaining days, weeks, and years. He believed he was ready. As he looked at the younger elf in front of him, he saw the grace of her youth and her selfless love for the people around her.

"If something should befall on me, I am relying on you to be there for Elrond. There would be hard choices waiting for him, difficulties that he has to face. Would you be willing to return to Imladris to be there with him?"

She did not know where the King was going with his words, and she was scared. What kind of farewell did the King had in mind?

Sensing her confusion, the High King laughed quietly and shook his head.

"I have always sworn an oath for myself, which I should take no wife, and leave a kingdom that a son should inherit. But you have always graced Lindon with your visits, and I am always happy to have you there. You are the closest I could have as a child. I would love to have your company once again, but not here; perhaps in the White Shores when all our troubles have ended, should you pass into the West. For now, my dearest child, farewell."

With that, the High King of the Ñoldor ruffled her hair like he always did and went off.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** Recklessness leads to drastic consequences as the War begins.

**Author's Notes:** Sorry for the long update. I was hindered by several school works and reports. Also, I apologize for the short chapter, as I kept the farewells a little terse, as opposed to what I initially had in mind. Anyway, I am feeling all these feels again. (T_T)

***llcyyxx** \- Welcome! Yes, you could purchase Erestor as low as 20 pounds since you are new here! Let me grab him for a while and shove him in a box, and then I could deliver him to you. Thank you for reviewing!

***Oriana5 **\- Oh, the Thrandy/Eryn feels. It grieves me to remember that many must die for the war.

***Asmodeus Black** \- Perhaps Eryn was left behind because they didn't want her singing them to death during the battle. XD. Thank you for the review!~

***Limbairedhiel**\- You rhymed! Congratulations! Your betrothed shall be delivered to you soon. And noooo! Amdir! I suppose I also need a box of tissue for him!

***Rousdower **\- Stop being mean to Thorin! *protectively hugs him _again_* He is just a wee dwarf who wants to be king! Now, be good and keep your money. *waves goodbye*

***DeLacus** \- Aw, Erestor and Eryn. I missed writing them together. Raithon! Yes, you could have Raithon! Everyone seems to be sold off. I shall have Glorfindel for myself when he appears later. MUAHAHAHA! (P.S. Hooray for Namo!)

Thank you all for reading! See you once again on the next update. _Namárië_!


	25. Prelude to War

**Chapter 25**

_**Prelude to War**_

* * *

The Second Age was stretching to its end. The Alliance of Elves and Men marched into the vast plain between the Dead Marshes and Cirith Gorgor. There, the armies of Sauron awaited them. The army of King Elendil's son Anarion joined them for battle. But there was more tension between the High King and the two Woodland Kings than there was between the armies. The High King thought both Amdír and Oropher had gone too bold to disobey him in some occasions, and the king's sons made no attempt to halt them. And it was always Elrond who brought the two kingdoms back together, reminding them of their common purpose. The High King said nothing about the matter; he could not afford to lose the forty thousand elves that the two Sindarin Kings commanded. He knew Oropher disliked the ways of the Ñoldor: their language, their warfare, and basically, their whole being. He knew Oropher disliked modern developments; the very reason why Oropher moved to Greenwood and ruled the Silvan was to return to simple ways, to their native culture. And warfare was not in their list.

The day they arrived in the vast plain, the elves had set up their campsites. Scouts were sent abroad to deliver tidings from lands back and forth. The flanks were fortified, the soldiers made ready. The silver and blue banner of the High King was raised. The host of the Woodland Realm distanced themselves from the larger host. The tension worsened when Thranduil had unexpectedly lashed out against the Dwarven-host from Khazad-dûm. There was the utter disgust and bewilderment when he found that Durin IV, King of Khazad-dûm, was to join the battle with his dwarven soldiers. The Prince of Greenwood would have raised a heavy hand and strike the Dwarf-king then and there, if not Elrond and Erestor had gotten in their way. King Oropher remained aloof, silently glaring at Durin, and retreated into the campsite they shared with King Amdír and Amroth.

When the night came and the campsite was silent, the High King entered the Woodland lord's campsite, but was immediately confronted by Thranduil. The Prince was not daunted by the King's presence. Moreover, he stood straight and looked directly at the dark eyes of the King. There was the question of authority between them, as though trying to asses which one was more powerful. Yet the King smiled to him.

"Good evening," the King said cordially, quickly dismissing the other's display of aloofness.

Thranduil remained dauntless, but his voice was as cordial as the King's. "May I help you? I am afraid my lord is already resting for tomorrow's first assault." He was supposed to be resting as well, being one of his father's first-liners with Raithon, but he could put himself to rest.

The King looked disappointed. "Ah, that is quite a shame then. I was looking forward to have a few words with him, before the battle breaks tomorrow. Can you pass along my message for him?"

Thranduil nodded.

"Normally, these words I would trust to no other, but you are Oropher's son, and will inherit your father's lands. I am in need of your cooperation for tomorrow. I am in need of our allies. Let us not widen the rift between us Elves, and between Elves and Dwarves. I know the very root of this hostility, but there is something greater that awaits us. Tomorrow is a great day, and we shall break our enemies' forces together." The authority of the High King was laced there, but his voice was thoughtful and his words careful. He wanted the prince to understand, but he treated Thranduil as his equal. Thranduil was no younger than the King already was.

"Will you tell him that?" the King continued.

"I will," Thranduil answered; his mind was still in deep thought of the King's words.

The King smiled and tapped Thranduil's shoulder, a gesture unexpected to the latter. "Thank you. I will see you in the front line tomorrow morning." He turned to leave, but halted in mid-step. "Oh, and that pennant tied around your bow. It is beautiful, and somewhat familiar. May I ask where you acquired it?"

Thranduil blinked at looked down at the bow in his hand. Indeed, the small green pennant was still tied around the limb of his bow, swaying in the slight evening breeze. "A gift from someone," he answered quietly.

"And you will return to her," the King said thoughtfully, surprising Thranduil. The High King was full of surprises. "Good night, Prince Thranduil." Finally, he left and went back to his camp. He still had a few words to spare for Elrond and Círdan.

When the King had disappeared into the night, Thranduil went back to see his father. He lied to the King; Oropher was not yet resting. He was sharing a plan with King Amdír, on how to overtake the Ñoldorin forces on the morrow, and the two kings were agreeable about it. Initially, Thranduil took part in it, so did Raithon and Amroth. They came into an agreement that no Sinda or Silvan should follow the banner of the High King. But after sharing a brief conversation with him, Thranduil became doubtful. He gently fiddled the pennant between his fingers, remembering to whom it belonged to. It had been months ever since their departure and he often wondered how she was doing as temporary Captain of the Elven-guard.

At King Oropher's permission, Thranduil entered the small tent where the lords and their captains were gathered. He sat beside Raithon and listened to the eager proposals of strategic plans the two Sindarin kings had to offer. As the time passed, Thranduil felt more doubtful, and the words of the High King plagued his mind. _We shall break our enemies' forces together_. He waited patiently until the late night council was over. He would speak to his king, to his father, about the matter of tomorrow's cooperation. If Oropher would not listen to the High King, perhaps he would listen to his son and heir.

* * *

The dreadful horn sounded to announce the beginning of the greatest war of the Second Age. Banners were held aloft; spears, bows, and swords were readied by their wielders. The High King marched at the head of his army; beside him were Elrond, Círdan, King Elendil, and his sons Isildur and Anarion. On the other side were the Silvan elves and the Dwarven-host of King Durin. The vast plain was soon occupied by the Dark Lord's colossal army of bellowing orcs and sneering evil men.

But the tension between Elves and Dwarves continued. Oropher was restless, and his grip on his slender sword was tighter. The very sound of Durin's voice echoing made the Elvenking blind with his thousand-year wrath, memories of the lost underground kingdom flashing before his eyes. He felt a tap on his shoulder, and turning, it was Thranduil who calmed his father down. But the effort was worthless. Oropher had given command to Raithon, to answer all but his commands, and that he should follow his king wherever he might be. To this Raithon swore, putting little regard of his own life.

The Orcs raised their poisoned-tipped arrows, and the Elves prepared their shields. The High King was ready to give out his first command, but Oropher had been restless enough.

Followed by his entire army, Oropher charged with a loud battle cry. His brave soldiers followed without hesitation, and thus, the flank of the Alliance was broken. The High King watched in horror as the Silvan elves expelled from his command. The orcs raised their weapons, and the poisoned-tipped arrows were released. The front-liners were felled, but the Elvenking charged with his captain at his side. Beside the High King, Erestor made an attempt to recall the Silvan elves, but was quickly halted by Elrond. And as the High King's eyes widened at the ensuing chaos before them, he realized that Thranduil was still standing among their company.

"_You are a fool."_

The Prince of Greenwood stood there, frozen in his terror and panic. He regarded his father as a fool for charging. He thought the King's words enlightened his father last night, that his father would swallow his pride and listen for a change. He watched as the Woodland host slowly depleted. But he could still see King Oropher and Raithon fighting in the front. Gripping his sword and bow, Thranduil charged and followed after them. King Amdír manned his army to follow Thranduil; should anything happen, they would be able to assist him. Amroth led their troops, but the orc-host advanced into the field and cut Thranduil off from the host of Lórinand. Amdír and Amroth were driven back into the marshes, whilst the fight in the plain against orcs and Silvan elves continued.

The High King had seen enough. Raising his spear, his archers aimed and released their arrows. The Alliance advanced as well, backing up the fallen Silvan elves from the fight. Elrond had given his command, and so did Erestor.

Thranduil let out a fearful cry when his father fell onto his knees, three arrows piercing his chest. Raithon was the first to rush to the Elvenking's aid, fending off the incoming orcs as he pulled the king away from the battlefield. The Silvan soldiers gave them way, and then shielded them against the chaos. Thranduil knelt beside his gasping father; the King's grip on his shoulder was firm. His breath was ragged and his eyes were dimmed, and Thranduil was scared.

"Don't leave, Adar. No, no, no, don't close your eyes. Don't you dare…" A child's plea, Thranduil knew, but it was all he could tell his father.

King Oropher shook his head and smiled weakly. "I only regret… that I have but… one life to lose for my kingdom."

Then, he spoke no more. The Elvenking's blue eyes went dark and unseeing. His ragged breaths halted and the hand that clasped his son's arm fell to the ground.

In a surge of terror, Thranduil searched for his one friend and called out: "Raithon!"

At once, the Captain of the Guards was at his side, kneeling before the felled Elvenking. He watched as Thranduil bow his head in defeat, though not a single tear fell. It was too early for mourning, but the loss was already great. Gathering his wits about him, Thranduil leaned and lovingly kissed the forehead of his lost father.

When the Silvan flank was breached by the advancing orcs, Raithon pulled his friend and forced him onto his feet. He shouted at Thranduil's face, calling him back to reality, and thrust his bow into his hands. Together they ran back to the line of the High King's army.

As they were retreating, one orc got hold of Thranduil's wrist and turned him around. The elf prince stumbled to the ground, completely caught off guard, and his friend was drawn into another combat with several orcs. Thrandui, managed to get hold of himself, kicking the orc off him, and bent his bow. As the orc fell, it clutched the waving pennant on the bow and ripped it off its rope. Thranduil attempted to reclaim it, being his most treasured possession in the battlefield, but more orcs advanced, and it was now or never. Raithon pulled him once again, desperate to return to the High King's phalanx. But Thranduil refused, scrambling on the rocky plain to get the green pennant. Raithon was pushed away by the other elves, those from Erestor's company. At last, Thranduil got hold of the pennant, now tainted with deep crimson. Another orc hovered above his kneeling position and moved to strike for the kill. The elf prince prepared himself for the pain, but it did not arrive. The High King was by his side, impaling the orc with his silver spear, and kicked the body away. He looked down to Thranduil; the friendly look from last night was replaced into a fierce one.

Where was the welcoming King that he had always known? And who was this intimidating High Commander?

The King offered a hand to Thranduil and ran back to him behind Elrond's unbroken phalanx. Raithon was there as well, guided by Erestor, as they regrouped on the other side of the vast plain. But Sauron's army advanced, stretching on the two ends of the plains. As the Elves and Men were regrouping, the army of King Amdír was cut off further into the marshes, cornered by thousands of orcs. With the remaining of his own company, Thranduil attempted to charge and save them, but it was the High King that had given command. In that instant, Thranduil finally realized: the authority was in the High King's hands. The disciplined army of the High King marched off to aid that of the cornered host of Lórinand. But Amdír, Amroth, and their forces were thoroughly pushed back further into the marshes; the elf soldiers sinking and drowning as they fought; dead bodies floated in the crimson waters. There, the Sindarin King was further pushed back until his son and guards were cut off from him. He tried to fight them off all at once, raising his standard as King of Lórinand.

Yet the forces of Sauron were dauntless. The King's throat was impaled by a poisoned spear in front of the eyes of his son and soldiers. Amroth was blinded with fury, just as Thranduil was, and he charged with the remaining soldiers, defending their lost King. That was when the High King and his followers broke through the marshes, saving what was left little of the Silvan host.

After that siege, Amroth was found alive, kneeling among the countless corpses. His face and body were covered with blood; his grey eyes still blinded with grief. There, Thranduil knelt beside his friend, disregarding the stench of blood and poison, and mourned for their loss.

It was but only a prelude to the battle. Two Elvenkings were lost on the first day; their sons carrying aloft their tattered and bloodied green banners. Two Sindarin princes finally submitted into the High King's command. There were more to come, and they would be ready, even if the battle would last for several years.

Atop his Dark Tower, Sauron laughed at the two kings' foolishness.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** Conclusion of the War.

**Author's Notes:** Alas! I kept this chapter rather short, as I left out the usual detailed battle scenes that I usually do. Here we have the beginning of the Battle of Dagorlad in SA 3434. Dagorlad was the same plain wherein Aragorn and the Armies of the West (in _The Return of the King_) fought. The marshes where Amdír died was the Dead Marshes in _The Two Towers_. Remember those floating bodies of dead elves that Frodo saw a̶n̶d̶ ̶a̶l̶w̶a̶y̶s̶ ̶s̶c̶a̶r̶e̶d̶ ̶m̶e̶ ̶a̶s̶ ̶a̶ ̶c̶h̶i̶l̶d̶? Yeah, if I remember correctly, those were the same elves from Lórinand. As much as I wanted to elaborate the deaths of Oropher and Amdír, I did not because of the surging feels.

Additionally, the Dwarves of Moria _did_ participate in the battle, led by King Durin IV, Thorin's distant ancestor.

***llcyyxx** \- Thank you! Erestor would be glad to be with you. I am more fond of elves than dwarves, most probably because of _The Silmarillion_ elves. I am sorry of Oropher did not die that epically, though he did show his pride and courage, so I guess that's bonus points.

***Limbairedhiel** \- Aw, don't worry! Eryn will be back in her usual eccentric self once the war is over. Right now, I feel as if she _needs_ to mature; if everyone around her went to war and could not possibly return alive, that is a good time to act mature. If Thrandy had so much kissed her then and there, I could only imagine Erestor stomping towards them in wrath. LOL.

Thank you for purchasing, Thranduil! *puts $10 tip in pocket* Indeed, he comes with the shirtless feature. You're Legolas's mother now! Congratulations! *throws confetti*

***Rousdower** \- Yes, we've got fires and death! MUAHAHAHAHA! *chokes*

***DeLacus** \- I think it's too early for kissing. ((((；゜Д゜))) But a little lovey-dovey should not hurt. And no need to worry; Eryn has matured, but not that much, I would guess. Hooray for Raithon and Santien! *throws more confetti* Our favourite Captain of the Guards needed love, too~

I hope you enjoyed this one, despite the deaths of our sassy Sindarin Elvenkings. Reviews are always appreciated! #Feels (T_T)


	26. The Last Stand

**Chapter 26**

_**The Last Stand**_

* * *

The War lasted longer than anyone could have anticipated. Following the great loss of two kings on their very first day, the Alliance continued to gain the upper hand. They drove the Orcs and the evil Men that Sauron had mustered, and the Elves and Men of Gondor kept advancing on the plains until they broke through the Black Gates, with the help of Elrond's golden companion; and at last, the Alliance made camp in Gorgoroth. In the next years, the Alliance slew a great part of Sauron's host and laid siege upon the Dark Tower itself. The pressure was sickening the Dark Lord that he himself, Sauron the Deceiver, went forth for battle.

It was everything the High King was waiting for. He had prepared himself for years to face this very moment. Little by little, fantasy faded as the Dark Lord marched, his heavy footfall shaking the earth and striking fear through the hearts of Men and Elves. Thranduil, though exhausted and restless of the battle, shared the same fear as the other elves before him. And he feared for the High King. The Dark Lord towered before his enemies; he was once of the proud Maiar, walking in a guise so terrible and proud; they called him Sauron and Deceiver, the Enemy, but most of all, the Abhorred.

The High King saw his soldiers creating an open space for them to duel on, and all was silent. However, before the enemy could give his first strike, some of the King's loyal followers charged against the Dark Lord. They formed a phalanx before the King, spears trying to daunt the towering figure in front; but under his mask, Sauron laughed, and hewed the pathetic elves from his pathway.

"_Fools,"_ he had always regarded the Eldar.

To defend the remainder of his host, the High King stood valiantly before the Dark Lord. His spear Aeglos was on hand; a large golden shield on the other. The King of Men, Elendil, and his son stood attentively on the side. Elrond, Erestor, Thranduil, and Amroth stood aside; they held their breaths. None could get in between this battle.

And so, it began. The High King and the Dark Lord fought long. Sauron's mace daunted the King's shield and threw aside his spear, but the King kept standing up. Out of frustration of the King's hardiness, Sauron bent down to grab the King by his throat, raising him for his followers to see. Elrond's grey eyes widened, and was about to break the phalanx to rush to the King. But Erestor and Círdan pulled him back as other thousands of orcs appeared behind their master.

"_Hear ye, hear ye!"_ Sauron's voice called out to everyone in the battlefield, his voice laced with mockery. His grip on the King's throat tightened, and the elf in his grip gasped for air and winced on the pain. _"Hear your beloved High King cry in pain as the flames of Udûn take the life of the Eldar away from him. Let harpers sing of his dreadful end. And you will learn, peasants: the Dark Lord always conquers."_

A great flame was suddenly conjured in his hand, engulfing the High King in a fiery chasm. The elves watched in horror, too stricken even to move. But Elrond had allowed his soldiers to charge, a desperate attempt to save their King, and the orc leaguer behind Sauron advanced against Elrond's. Both parties clashed; one was trying to save, and the other trying to defend. The High King refused to cry in pain just as Sauron announced, and the Dark Lord laughed again. His grip tightened, all the air leaving the King's lungs, but there was nothing else to do. Elrond and his army were still so far.

The High King turned, for the last time, to see his ever loyal and brave soldiers. He saw the Sun gleaming from afar, and his heart returned to the shores he loved the most. Lindon: where elves come to and fro, either leaving or merely visiting. He could hear the waves of the Sea, calling him home. He remembered all the elves who had been in his journey: his father and sister, the elves from the underground realm, and the survivors of Gondolin. And he remembered the child who always visited him, a member of Gildor's traveling group. How she had not acknowledged him as King on their first meeting, her absentmindedness to almost everything. But she was an honest child, someone who always wanted to be needed.

His memories as King faded into Sauron's iron grip, and the searing pain registered into his mind. He winced inwardly, reminiscing all the memories he had cherished for thousands of years. He knew he would end here; he had accepted it. But he would continue living. Not here, but on the white shores in the far West.

His final thoughts echoed:

"_The king must die so that the country can live."_

* * *

To Elrond's grief, all the command fell to him. When Sauron had dropped the High King's burnt and lifeless body on the ground, Elves and Men alike stormed against the Dark Lord. This time, they were led by King Elendil with his remaining son Isildur; his younger son Anarion fell during the breaking of the Black Gates, three years ago. At his command, King Elendil raised his long sword, one that the elves recognized and referred as Narsil.

But Sauron laughed it off, saying: _"It takes more to make a King than an Elven sword."_

His mace he hewed down to the King of Men, striking him completely off his balance. Elendil was thrown aside, his helm cast away and his head broken in that attack. As Sauron hovered above the fallen King, the son Isildur rushed beside his father, taking his face between his hands, and snatched Narsil off the ground. Sauron broke the Elven-sword beneath his foot, shattering the blade to the hilt. He stooped to take hold of Isildur's throat, hungry to burn someone again in his clutches. It was in this moment, when all hope had faded, that Isildur took up his father's sword, and slashed the finger that beheld the One Ring. The gleaming Ring fell beside Isildur as the physical guise of Sauron was engulfed in fire and imploded, sending a massive wave that shook the warring elves and men off their feet. The dark armor fell on the ground; Sauron's unhoused spirit lingering in the battlefield, wandering abroad thereafter.

But it was far from over.

From the Dark Tower, the last leaguer of Sauron was opened: fire-drakes. The Elves wavered, but their goal was set. Elrond and Erestor manned their phalanx together, their shields ready to absorb the scorching heat. As the fire rained down upon them, some of the men retreated, abandoning their posts. It was Thranduil and Raithon who pulled them back into Elrond's army, and they were pushed behind the phalanx. Just as the men were temporarily saved, Thranduil saw Isildur still lying on the ground, curiously staring at the small golden Ring. Giving his sword to Raithon for defense, Thranduil took up his bow and quiver and rushed to the king's son. Upon reaching him, Thranduil shouted at the top of his lungs, shaking Isildur from his trance.

"Dragons!" Someone cried from the phalanx.

Indeed, a red one stooped on the battlefield, flames shooting from its mouth. Its tail coiled around the boulders, its claws reaching out for the elves. Then, Erestor and some of his company, including Amroth and Raithon, stepped forward as distraction to let Elrond and Círdan pass through and advance further into Mount Doom.

The fire-drake was held back by hundreds of elves, and finally, Thranduil was able to pull Isildur back into their company. That small company went to follow Elrond's trail, with Thranduil and Raithon managing the rear. Erestor led them in front, his sword raised for his soldiers to see. The fire-drake turned towards them, hissing at their attempt of distraction, and spewed fire at the rear. Scantily-equipped and caught off guard, Thranduil and Raithon were engulfed in flames. Cries of agony echoing in the field, Erestor heard them and stopped. He shouted a command in Quenya, that tongue he had not used for so long. The remaining elves heard him and together, they turned around, rescuing their kin from the assault of a fire-drake.

In the days that followed, Barad-dûr was no more, and so was its Dark Lord. The enemies were scattered, the fire-drakes retreating into the far North, to the Withered Heath whence they came.

The War was won.

* * *

_I hear the wind call your name _

_It calls me back home again _

_It sparks up the fire— a flame that still burns _

_Oh, it's to you, I will always return_

* * *

Thranduil searched thickly through the crowd of Elves. The battlefield was barren and blood-stained. Cries of wounded warriors filled his ears. He almost stumbled and fell when his foot tripped over a motionless body of a man. He gripped his sword for balance, as if it was some wooden staff, and pressed his way onwards the heavy crowd. No one gave him attention, not when everyone was busy with finding their brothers, and sons, and friends.

He could feel the nausea brought by the battle. _An aftermath_, Thranduil thought, and closed his eyes for a moment. And they reopened; his right vision was blurry and clouded. He could make out shapes and colors, but beyond them, it was an utter blur. On his left eye, there was nothing but darkness. Not a single image could be processed. He blinked once, and then twice. Still nothing. He growled and rubbed his left eye, and inwardly winced when his fist made contact with a burn he received earlier from the battle.

_Dragon fire_, Thranduil cursed as the pain on his left cheek increased.

He paid no heed anymore to his accursed vision. Instead, he carried on, limply going over crowds to another, in search for the familiar face he so desperately searched. As he continued, the numbing pain registered into his head, and he stumbled again. He fell on his knees; hands still clutched the sword for balance. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes again, disregarding the burn, and gritted his teeth.

"My lord Thranduil," one elf called out to him. The elf knelt down and observed the prince's face. He gasped at the sight of the awful burn. "Wait here," he said, looking around the field. "I shall call for Lord Elrond."

The moment he felt the elf stand up, Thranduil quickly grabbed the elf's sleeve and forcefully pulled him down. "No," he said sternly. His unseeing eyes were fixated on the ground. "I want you to find something for me… a green pennant," he panted softly. "Green and fastened with a grey rope… It bears a device of a tree… and the name Cúthalion. Find it for me."

The elf reluctantly nodded and sped off once the prince let go off his sleeve. Then, Thranduil grunted and stood up again. He marched on and on, tired, worried, and injured; he would not easily be daunted, not now that his people would look for his counsel.

He stopped when he felt another presence nearby. Acting as if his eyes could still see, he turned and looked ahead; his right eye could barely make out the image, but he could imagine a dark-haired elf coming towards him. He did not need to know who it was; he simply called out: "Lord Elrond."

Elrond stopped in front of the prince and took notice of his injuries. "Lord Thranduil," he said. "You must come with me. Your wounds are terrible. The Host is retreating to Minas Tirith. I have a steed ready for us."

When he turned to leave, Thranduil pulled him back by the shoulder. "I did not ask for healing," he said, but it sounded more like a demand. "I want you to find Erynlith's pennant."

Elrond gently removed the hand on his shoulder and said, "It is already found, my friend. Please, follow me to the Houses of Healing."

"No," Thranduil answered sternly. He fought the urge to blink his left unseeing eye, the scorching pain on his left cheek weakening him by each passing second. "Give me the pennant, and I shall return to Greenwood. I have no time for formalities and hospitalities. I must return to Greenwood _now_."

With a reluctant nod from Elrond, he commanded Raithon and the remaining Elven-host to prepare for the journey home.

* * *

*_"The king must die so that the country can live" - _Maximilien Robespierre

**Author's Notes:** Ha, I warned you! I'll just breeze through the War of the Last Alliance, just like how Fili's death in BOTFA was. A time-skipped, from SA 3434 to SA 3441, because the War spanned for seven freaking years! Sometimes I wonder what they did in those seven years. Did they have a slumber party in Gil-Galad's tent? Speaking of him, I shall really, really miss writing the High King! It was really fun to portray him, even if he appeared in only a few chapters.

Oh, and the dragon fire reference from _The Hobbit films_. Yeah, I did the thing. I remember that time when the fandom broke loose on that one scene in DOS, when Thrandy mentions that he has "faced the serpents of the North". And there goes his awful burn. (K̶u̶d̶o̶s̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶b̶r̶i̶l̶l̶i̶a̶n̶t̶ ̶a̶c̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶L̶e̶e̶ ̶P̶a̶c̶e̶!̶) Suddenly, these theories and fanfics come up that Thrandy was actually blind. So yeah, I incorporated that tidbit here.

***Evangeline Pond** \- Ooohh! Good to see you here again! Yes, Daddy Oropher shall be missed. *sniff* This is off track, but I have heard of Divergent countless times; my friends read the trilogy, but I still haven't. I like its concept, too. Have you taken the test? Apparently, my faction would be Candor. What's yours?

***llcyyxx** \- I just realized that he did die the same way as Boromir. *gasps* Maybe I should rewrite that or something. Is your package there yet? And oh! How did your skiing go? It sounds fun and I am so envious right now!

***Limbairedhiel** \- Yep, it was really just a breeze. Sorry about that. I'll keep your little-used tissue box in case of future feels. I visualize both Oropher and Amdir as kings concerned of their people, but could actually get prideful when it comes to social class. Remember that the Ñoldor were something "higher" and that Gil-Galad was actually descended from a line of kings, while Oropher and Amdir only became kings because the Silvan and Nandor elves supported them. I think my idea is silly, though.

As for the ages, since Thranduil was alive during the time of Beleg Cuthalion, I'd say he was born sometime in FA 460, making him around the age of Turin Turambar. (U̶h̶-̶o̶h̶.̶ ̶H̶e̶r̶e̶ ̶I̶ ̶g̶o̶ ̶a̶g̶a̶i̶n̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶_T̶h̶e̶ ̶S̶i̶l̶m̶a̶r̶i̶l̶l̶i̶o̶n̶_ ̶r̶e̶f̶e̶r̶e̶n̶c̶e̶s̶.̶) Same goes for Amroth and Raithon, I guess. Erynlith's parents were from Doriath; it was mentioned in the earlier chapters that Amdir was her maternal uncle. I visualize her somewhere around 400 years, still a child by Elvish standards.

I certainly fall in love with Leggles every time I rewatch LOTR. But his father... Oh, Valar. Imagining him shirtless is such a delight. There needs to be fluff! Anyway, thank you for such a long review. It was really appreciated!~

***DeLacus** \- R.I.P. #Amdir and #Oropher. I shall miss these two sassy kings. It must be traumatizing to watch your remaining parent die, and still have to remain strong to battle. Amroth and Thrandy need a hug! *cries* I also imagine Sauron thrashing Gil-galad around the battlefield, and then be like "Puny Elf". (I'm sorry, Gil-galad!)

This is all for now, folks! Hopes you enjoyed it very much! See you all in the next chapter!~


	27. Dadwen-en-Aran

**Chapter 27**

_**Dadwen-en-Aran**_

* * *

_I still feel your breath on my skin_

_I hear your voice deep within_

_The sound of my lover — a feeling so strong_

_It's to you — I'll always belong_

* * *

Thranduil was more than ready to come home.

With a bandage around his eyes and cheek, he steered his white horse well for an unseeing elf. Behind him, the Silvan host, barely a third from what he and his father had mustered seven years ago followed; the green banner of the Elvenking, though smeared with the blood of his kin, was held aloft. Horns were sounded to announce the departure of the elf prince. But he was not on his own. Raithon rode his horse beside his prince and friend, the burn on his back and legs gave him painful memory. Elrond had attended to him better than any other healers, and it made their departure sooner. Other than Raithon, Amroth was ready to return to Lórinand. And Elrond, Erestor, and Círdan steered their horses behind the long line; the remnants of their alliance marching away from Gondor.

When all was said and done, the elven-host marched back whence they came: from the far West, beyond the Misty Mountains. Elrond and his people had agreed to stay for a while in Greenwood, to attend further to Thranduil and Raithon's injuries. Another reason was for Erestor to see Erynlith once again; his heart ached for her, and his heart fluttered at the idea of seeing her again after so many years. But he was not the only one to feel such a way.

Together, the host traveled for many weeks. Raithon rode steadily beside his friend, worried of his condition. The bandages around Thranduil's eyes were worrisome; he could not see anything beyond, but he managed to guide his horse well throughout the travel. He would ask for no help, and often shooed Elrond's probing hand as he tried to assist Thranduil with the bandage. He was more independent and prideful since the War ended, and he would listen to no one anymore. He carried the memory of his father's death with him, that very first day when the phalanx of the High King was broken by a foolish thought. His father's last words ignited a flame within him.

And of Amdír's passing: what would he tell Erynlith?

Something was kindled in his chest. It had been long since he spoken her name so openly. But he always thought of her, every single day since they were sundered. Would she still be in Greenwood as temporary Captain of the Guards? He hoped so; else, who would await him in the forest? He had no father, no king to follow. He was terrified of what would come next: the Silvan folk hailing him as Elvenking. He was not ready. Of all the time, he was not ready for this. If he could only pass the kingship to another, that would be good. But he had no heir; it was far too early to think about that. He had more plans for Greenwood, more plans to ensure the peace and safety in his realm.

"Are you ready to be king?" Raithon had asked him one day, when they had finally passed Emyn Muil. Soon, Greenwood would reach their sights.

Thranduil shook his head. He could not see his friend, but he knew Raithon was near him. "Am I, I wonder?"

"You have to," Raithon said softly, not wanting to sound demanding. He knew his friend had been through so much and carrying a kingdom would add into it. "For our people."

"For our people," Thranduil muttered under his breath. For one thing, that phrase pulled him back to his senses. He was Oropher's heir, after all. He was meant to be the next Elvenking.

* * *

_Oh, I hear the wind call your name_

_The sound that leads me home again_

_It sparks up the fire — a flame that still burns_

_Oh, it's to you — I will always return_

* * *

Finally, Greenwood had reached their sights. The Silvan elves sighed in relief. They were almost home. It would only take them a few more hundred steps. They longed to see their family and friends, the wives and elflings left behind. They longed for the warmth of the trees, the rushing waters of the river, the chirping of the birds. They arrived in spring when Greenwood was at its finest. The company tarried no longer. The soldiers literally ran, breaking away from the long line, to reach the forest. At that movement, Elrond chuckled amusedly.

"Shall we? The forest calls us home." He ushered his horse faster.

"I'll say." Erestor smiled, urging his horse. "I cannot wait to see her."

As for Thranduil and Raithon, the dark-haired captain waited for an order. Although he wanted to sprint towards the forest like the others, he could not bring it to himself to leave Thranduil alone, grasping in the darkness that were his only sight. Slowly, he took the reins of Thranduil's horse and led them together back to Greenwood, where surely, their loved ones awaited them. He wanted to see her again, his beloved Santien, and tell her his adventures. He preferred no other healer to attend to him other than her. And he knew Thranduil felt the same longing for a certain elf to which he had trusted the safety of his home.

The Silvan folk were instantly gathered in the field before the palace. They were cheering and clapping and whistling. Soldiers embraced their wives and elflings, now not so young anymore. They had grown for the past seven years although still very young. As Thranduil dismounted his horse, still guided by Raithon, the Silvan cheered louder and clapped louder. Then, the cheering stopped, their eyes in search for the silver-haired King they had known. But Thranduil faced his people and shook his head. He could not see, but he could imagine the disheartened look on their faces. He heard some of the elf guards taking his horse away for the stables, and the voices of Elrond, Círdan, and Erestor muttering. He waited for another voice, something familiar, but it did not come.

Where was she?

He grabbed the nearest Silvan to him, one of the elf guards who were left in Greenwood rather than to battle in the South. The elf was startled at the sudden firm grip on his sleeve. When he turned and saw Thranduil, he instantly bowed and addressed the elf prince.

"Erfaron," Thranduil demanded. "Where is she?"

"She went off to patrol the forest, my lord," the elf guard answered. "Someone has already gone after her. Please wait for a while."

Thranduil growled. He could wait no longer.

* * *

Elsewhere, the elf in question was lazily flopped on the meadow, amidst the blooming bluebells. She loved the autumn, but she loved the spring more now. They made the forest more beautiful and made the flowers bloom in different colors. Her black horse was trotting silently under the shade of a tree while she was basking under the early sunlight. Her grey cloak was draped about her torso, her arms dipped behind her head to serve as pillows.

"_The leaves are falling down_

_The leaves are falling down_

_Red, yellow, green, and brown_

_The leaves are falling down."_

Her singsong was interrupted when a loud banging footfall sounded above her. She stretched her head backwards, and the image she saw was upside-down. The golden armor was unmistakable, and she quickly sat up, her cloak falling onto her lap.

"Erestor!" She exclaimed, throwing herself in his arms like she always did.

Erestor laughed whole-heartedly and spun her around. He kissed her forehead and cheek, and she laughed with him. It was good to see her once more; the reuniting between two siblings was beyond words.

"You look… different," Erynlith remarked. She ran her fingers through the thick locks of her brother, looking deeply into his eyes. She could see the hardships he faced, mirrored in those grey orbs. His golden armor was almost orange with the dried blood. Then, she tiptoed to kiss his nose. "I missed you, Erestor, tra-la."

"I missed you too, Eryn," he replied, disregarding her aversion to nicknames. He raked his calloused fingers through her umber hair and was not surprised when the locks were tangled. He laughed. "Surely now, you could have combed your hair in the seven years that I was gone. Your hair is too thick and unkempt, Eryn. What have you been doing?"

"Playing-captain, that's what, tra-la," she sang in response. Then, she dragged Erestor by the wrist and pulled him back to the palace, her horse Arcastar following them silently. She was beaming, almost like a child. "Is everyone home? Raithon, and Amroth, and Thranduil?"

He smiled and nodded.

When they returned to the palace, everyone was gathered at her arrival. It was Círdan, the silver-haired Lord of the Havens, who had greeted her first. His beard was longer than she had remembered, but he was as friendly as ever. They shook hands before Erynlith and Erestor wound through the thick crowd of elves. Soon, they found Raithon and Santien who were too happy to be reunited. There had never been a wider smile that Santien had at that moment. More greetings were shared, and Raithon complimented her for taking on the position of Captain in his absence.

"Oh, that was nothing, tra-lo." Erynlith laughed it off. "Everyone was cooperating, that's why, tra-lay. Now tell me, where are King Oropher and Thranduil? I want to hear their account of the war. And King Amdír?"

Erestor was relieved Prince Amroth was not there to answer her. Instead, he shook his head wistfully. "I am sorry."

"Oh…" She murmured and cast her eyes on the ground.

He pulled Erynlith's hand and whispered: "It would be better for you to see Thranduil first."

She followed him again; her brother seemed familiar to the very room where they should go. They trekked the upper floors of the palace, away from the ensuing gathering in the king's throne. Soon, they arrived to the farthest chambers, and Erynlith recognized it as Thranduil's chambers. She looked hesitantly at Erestor, doubting what she would find there. The doors creaked and out came Elrond and Celairis, the previous King Oropher's Chief Counselor. Both looked distressed about something, but it was Elrond who smiled upon seeing Erynlith.

"How are you, Eryn?" he asked and embraced her gently.

"Very good, tra-la," she answered and broke away. "May I see Thranduil?"

Elrond glanced at Celairis. There was a silent communication and understanding between them that Erynlith could not understand. Even Erestor was sympathizing at this understanding. What was it? As Erynlith moved to the door, fed up with the mysterious atmosphere engulfing their little group, Elrond quickly took hold of her hand and shook his head. It was obvious he was carefully choosing his words for her. It took him a while to muster them out, to find the very words he needed.

"Make it short, and do not talk to him of dragon fire," was all Elrond had to say.

Reluctantly, Erynlith nodded and slipped inside the chambers. She closed the doors silently, not a creaking sound was emitted. A large porch was on the right side of the room where light penetrated and the singing of birds could be heard. A single king-sized bed sat in the middle of the room. White sheets covered the lithe form of an exhausted elf prince. A small wooden table was beside the bed, and on top of it were a pitcher of water and the herbs Elrond used earlier. A lone chair sat alone in waiting for its next occupant.

She hesitated to come nearer. She stood by the doorway, staring at him. His body shifted lightly, and he moaned in his sleep. A breath was caught up in her throat, and she knew he was suffering of many hurts. Few more seconds and he moved again.

"Erynlith," Thranduil said, although quietly, his voice was as powerful as ever. "Stop hovering by the doorway and come here."

Reluctantly again, she moved away from her post and slowly made her way at the foot of his bed.

"How did you know it was me?" Erynlith asked, peering over his form.

Livid wounds were present on his arms and sides, partly covered by clean bandages around the torso. The lower half of his naked body was covered under the white sheets. Both arms were covered with bandages; the right one was tainted with a shameful hue of crimson. She held her breath when her eyes fell on his face. His whole head was covered, save for his mouth, and his pale golden hair lay on his pillow. A thick cloth covered his left cheek where Elrond described a terrible burn. His eyes were covered fully and his chest heaved lightly from his faint breathing.

"You always smell of forest," he replied, a small smile suddenly curled in his lips. She smiled although knowing he would not see. He weakly gestured his left hand. "Come closer," he said.

Erynlith complied, taking a seat on the chair and rested her hands on top of his left hand. Thranduil reached out for both her hands, and then to her arms. His hands reached her face and he cupped her cheek, remembering her warmth. He felt slightly groggy from the slightest of his movements. He released her face and moved higher on his bed, in an attempt to sit up, but the pain on his chest and hips returned; and he winced, an undignified wince for the Prince of Greenwood. Erynlith flinched from her seat, arms ready to assist him. But as proud and independent that was Thranduil, he merely shrugged it off and laid back to bed.

"My eyes are bothering me," he bitterly admitted.

She did not understand how it felt to lose eyesight, even for a moment, but she tried her best to comprehend and empathize to him.

"I really want to see you," he finished, tilting his head to the side where she was.

She smiled again and ran a finger on his left cheek, very lightly as to not cause any pain. At her touch he sighed, a satisfied one, and he smiled at her.

"Come closer," he ordered again.

Now, Erynlith fully hesitated. How could she come closer? She was sitting on the chair next to the bed. It was the closest she could get. She remained silent, pretending not to hear him. But Thranduil was no fool.

"_Closer_," he repeated impatiently.

At once she complied, abandoning the chair to lie carefully next to him. Her chin rested against his burning forehead and in response, Thranduil shifted to curl closer to her, his face just under the crook of her neck, inhaling the forest scent she carried all the way from the meadow. She held him in return; one arm wrapped over his shoulder and the other caressed his face; each feather-like touch sent nerves jolting awake.

Ever so slowly, he reached out under his pillow, and Erynlith had to move a little to let his hand grope for something. When it was retreated from the pillow, they returned to their previous position and he held out his curled fist for her to see. Slowly, he opened his hand and there the green pennant that bore her grandfather's name was crumpled. It was tainted with dried blood, the tree and leaves and stars were barely recognizable from it. The grey rope was still fastened, and the embroidered name still readable.

"I brought you a present from war," he whispered, and she smiled.

And they lay there for the following hours. Thranduil had fallen back to sleep, and his friend, tired on her own account, chose to remain beside him. Her arm around his shoulders felt numb and she did not mind. She smiled yet again and kissed his forehead.

_Welcome home._

* * *

In a separate room away from the eyes of others, Elrond, Erestor, and Círdan were in council. All three elves knew they could not stay in Greenwood for too long. Elrond had Imladris to run, and Círdan had Lindon to manage. Without the High King, the Falathrim would turn to him for counsel. It was an agreeable plan for all of them; even Amroth of Lórinand had agreed into it. The prince had already returned to his own forest to announce them the tidings of war, but he was sure he would find comfort in Nimrodel. The plan of departing was set, but Erestor had something else in mind.

"If I am leaving, Erynlith is coming with me. And no one can tell me otherwise."

* * *

*_Dadwen-en-Aran - Return of the King_

*_I Will Always Return – Bryan Adams_

**Author's Notes:** Aaaandd, we're back once more in Greenwood, folks! The shortness of the Alliance arc must be unsatisfactory to some readers; I am sorry about that! We have some angsty Thranduil here and the usual eccentric Erynlith. I kind of missed having her around, but I miss King Oropher and Amdír more!. And then there's Gil-galad from the last chapter! *grossly sobbing*

***Evangeline Pond** \- Aww, yeah! You're Divergent! I must bow to you! *throws confetti* And yes, we return now to the romance!

***Asmodeus Black** \- I have special fangirl feels for Gil-galad, y'know. He was cool in _The Fellowship of the Ring_ film. Yeah, Thranduil may not really be blind in that eye (canonically-speaking), but I wanted to try writing him as blind. It brings more angst in the house! *partays*

***llcyyxx** \- I am glad to hear Erestor doing so well with you! Make sure he drinks his milk before going to bed, and he has a very special pillow. I probably should send that to you as well. And oh! Skiing on the Olympic slopes! I am so envious right now! I wish I could have done the same. Glad you enjoyed your vacation!

***Limbairedhiel** \- Gil-galad shall truly be missed! *sniffs* Oh! I like to think that the Elves and Men had slumber parties during those seven years, throwing pillows at each other. Maybe Thrandy and Amroth sneaked in to other's tents and played some pranks. You know those kids. *sigh* And I am so sorry for not paying attention on Isildur. Aragorn could kill me! (By the way, are you the guest who posted the same review? LOL)

***DeLacus** \- Hooray for Maximilien Robespierre! But no hooray for Gil-galad. (T_T) Well, at least Thrandy and Raithon survived, right? Haha!

***xSiriuslyPadfoot** \- Gil-galad is truly a great character. Now that you have mentioned it, I think I _might_ try a Gil-galadxOC, but that would not happen any sooner, as I am still working with a handful of other stories. And your profile picture! Is that Tom Hiddleston! My fangirl senses are tingling!

**P.S.** Thank you all for reading and reviewing! I am very grateful! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, as we move on to the next big decisions our beloved Elves are going to make. Stay tuned!


	28. What Makes a King

**Chapter 28**

_**What Makes a King**_

* * *

Erynlith had never felt so needed before.

It was hard to believe that some weeks ago; she was Captain of the Elven-guard. Now, she was pacing back and forth in the palace. It felt different to be back in a dress, to have a long skirt limiting her movements. For years she was required to wear nothing but the heavy tunic and trousers; now, she felt like a lady again. And she was needed by everyone. Elrond and Círdan often turned to her for assistance for both elf lords were unfamiliar of the ways in the Woodland Realm. Erestor was fine at his own pace, and he was incredibly independent. The dark-haired Celairis also moved at her own pace; the management of the palace relied heavily on her while the prince was occupied.

Thranduil let no one near him except Erynlith, and she did not mind at all. With some of Santien's lessons, Erynlith learned how to dress a bandage properly, to coat his injuries with medicinal herbs, and everything. It had been a few weeks ever since their arrival, and Elrond visited Thranduil every once in a while. He tried to give hints about their plan of returning to Rivendell, also Erestor's plan of taking his sister with him, but Thranduil had always snorted it off.

"It's hopeless," Elrond whispered to Erestor when they were back in the palace's drawing room.

"Perhaps what is needed is direct approach, direct words," Círdan offered. "But let me tell you: it will be hard for them, not when Thranduil relies on Erynlith for his recovery. And he is restless and he is angry with everyone."

"He grieves still for their loss, and he refuses kingship," Elrond added. He had no idea why he was troubling himself with that matter. It was a decision Thranduil needed to make.

"Either way, Eryn still has to return with us," Erestor pressed. It was rare for him to demand something, but he had an explanation behind it. There was no reason for Erynlith to stay in Greenwood. With King Amdír lost, no one would watch over her the way the previous king did. Amroth was occupied with duties that he could not keep an eye on her anymore. And what if the orcs attacked again? Erestor would not risk that happening. He had sacrificed many years without her, and there would be no more.

"Does she already know?" Círdan asked.

Erestor shook his head. "Yes. I have made my intentions clear for her, and she understands. Although she still seems to choose and stay by Thranduil's side…"

"Let them be for a while," Elrond interjected. "Thranduil needs his time to rest."

* * *

In the grand chambers of the soon-to-be Elvenking, the silence was very much appreciated. For days none dared to enter unless the prince willed it, and those who did not ask for permission were shrugged off. He liked his time alone, to ponder in his thoughts, to decide things on his own. He was alone in this decision, to become king. Years before, he was ecstatic about the idea of taking his father's crown and rule his people. Now, he doubted everything. He doubted the words of his counselor; he doubted Elrond's careful words. How could a blind Elvenking rule his people?

Thranduil paused at that thought. From his desk, he carefully brought his fingers on the white cloth wrapped around his eyes. It had been weeks of darkness, and darkness was not entirely new to him now. The pain that lingered there after the battle had vanished, but the memory was bitter. Elrond assured him that his sight would return after a few more weeks. His patience was running thin, and he needed no pity from the elves around him. That was the outmost reason why he isolated himself; he did not want to be pitied on, to receive assuring words from others.

Behind him, he heard the soft creaking of his chamber doors. He tilted his head slightly, feeling the presence of another elf. As he faced his desk, his hand continued to his previous business, a sketch he was trying to finish. His days locked in the chambers were boring, and he was always left to himself. The sketch he was working on was rather a product of his complete boredom, and he himself did not know how it looked like. The image was engraved in his mind. He heard no footsteps behind him, and he hid a curling smile.

"If you think you can sneak up on me, think again," he said gently, turning to the side of his desk and tapping his nails on the table.

Erynlith smiled sheepishly, although knowing he could not see. She brought a silver tray in her hands, filled with the herbs Elrond and Santien recommended. "You make feel terrible for not doing so, tra-lay," she sang, walking towards his desk.

Thranduil chuckled lowly. "Erfaron should be better than just sneaking up on me."

"Don't get me started with that, tra-lo," she snorted and peeked over his shoulder. On the small sheet of paper, she could see the rough sketch that Thranduil did out of boredom. "What is that?"

"What do you think?" he said, lifting the paper up. He knew he couldn't see his work, but it couldn't be _that_ bad. He waited for an answer from her, but she seemed to be buffering. He sighed exasperatedly. "It's a foliage, you silly elf. Remember the one you gave me years ago?"

"Oh, yes," she finally said in realization and handed the paper back to him. She laid the tray on his desk, removing the other drawing tools the prince had gathered there. "Santien wants to visit here, but I told her no. Do you want to reconsider?"

He shook his head quickly. "I don't want others here, especially Elrond."

"Why not?" Erynlith continued the conversation, laying out the things she needed. Bandages and ointment, a cup of wine for his liking. She grabbed a chair and sat in front of him, her hands reaching behind his head to remove the bandages. Thranduil sat still, occasionally sipping from his wine.

"He has been talking nonstop about something," he replied irritably.

When the bandages slipped from his eyes, he tried to blink, just like he always did, but darkness greeted him. Inwardly, he seethed. He had had enough of this everlasting darkness! He yearned for the light, for the faces of his friends and people, for the trees and blooming flowers, and most importantly, for her smile. All he could do was to imagine how she looked like after seven years, and it made his mood fouler by the passing second.

Erynlith knew well that he was frustrated. She could not do anything about his temporary blindness, and every night she sang as short prayer to the Valar. To reassure him, she brushed her fingers on his long lashes and tapped his nose lightly.

"Stop growling, tra-la," she teased, pulling the bandages away for new ones.

"I can't help it." He scoffed. "I am so done with everything and everyone."

"Even me?" she suggested, her voice laced with sadness.

Quickly, Thranduil flinched and shook his head. "What? No, of course not! Never!"

She laughed heartily at his defensiveness. She poured the ointment on her hands to soothe his aching cheek. The left cheek was still heavily burned and Elrond mentioned that it would take years to heal. "Hold still. This might sting."

"Everything stinks." He glowered, and then sighed at her gentle touch.

She laughed again. "I said _sting_, Thranduil, not stink."

"I know, _Erfaron_," he emphasized the name.

Erynlith pouted as the brooding Prince of Greenwood in front of her began to frown once more. She looked around the room, trying to come up with something that could lighten his mood. Then, suddenly, she burst into cheerful singing:

_*"Yellow, yellow flower, dancing in the sun._

_Oh yellow, yellow flower, you tell me spring has come._

_I can hear a blue bird sing, and hear a robin call._

_But yellow, yellow flower I love you most of all!"_

Thranduil laughed and clapped his hands in delight. "Wonderful, Erfaron. You make a better minstrel than Captain of the Guards."

For a moment there was silence, before he remembered something of importance.

"Has Elrond mentioned something yet about returning to Rivendell?" He wanted to press that conversation between them. He was no fool not to notice Elrond's insistence on the matter. He merely shrugged of every hint Elrond gave him, and he knew it was troubling the half-elven.

Erynlith pursed her lips, and began pulling a new roll of bandages for his eyes. His wine was almost finished, and he thirsted for more. Gently, she raked her hands on his pale golden mane, soothing all the slight tangles before slipping the bandages behind his head.

"Erestor mentioned it once… I think, tra-lo," she answered and saw the furrowing of his brows. "He really wants to go home, tra-lay. The remaining elves from Rivendell think the same. And Lord Círdan is restless. It is a shame the High King never returned… I miss him."

"You are close to him?" Thranduil asked out of curiosity. The hands behind his head were removed and he was already missing her touch. He felt something pressed on his lips, and he parted them slightly, allowing the liquor to slide down his throat. Instantly, he recoiled from the cup and openly shuddered. "What in Arda was that?! That better be not one of Santien's concoctions!"

"It is." Erynlith laughed, placing the cup aside. "And no, not really. I mean, I know him only as probably the most important elf in all of Middle-earth, and I don't really talk to him, tra-lil-lay. He does talk to me, though. He was… very friendly… Feeling better?"

Thranduil flicked his tongue, trying to remove the nasty taste. "I think I feel worse."

"You have to get used to it," she replied and began cleaning up the desk. "Do you want to return to your bed?"

He shook his head, already standing. "I don't need help."

"Oh," was all she could mumble. She watched as Thranduil stood up from his chair and dropped on the edge of his bed. He had already got used to the darkness, and he memorized ever corner of the room. He knew exactly where the desk was, the bookshelf, his wardrobe, and the curtains. His stern decline of her help proved his pride and independence, and all she wanted to do was help. She continued to watch as he slipped beneath the white covers, groaning slightly on the pain rising in his back.

"Do not take it too seriously," he whispered. "I did not mean for it to sound so… demanding." Both of them fell silent. So, he continued: "Back to Elrond and that matter about Rivendell…"

"What about it?" She casually asked, although she preferred not to discuss it.

"Are you leaving with them?"

She hesitated. Erestor had made his intentions clear to her, and she understood. But she chose to ignore it, knowing that she could still spend more time in Greenwood. "I do not know," she answered, and it was the truth.

Thranduil nodded quietly. "Do you want to leave?"

"No."

"But do you want to return to Rivendell?" He tried pushing his luck on her again.

Erynlith pressed her lips before answering. "Well, yes… I haven't been home for quite a while now. I wonder what has changed, tra-la."

Again, Thranduil nodded pensively. "I will rest for now. Will you return here for dinner? And stay here after that as well? Oh, and be a good girl and bring me wine when you return. Thank you, _Erfaron_." He smirked and even under the bandages, she knew his eyes were glinting in mischief.

"Enough with the Erfaron or I will not bring you your precious wine."

"Okay, no," he quickly replied, still chuckling.

And then, silence followed. He received no response from his friend. Carefully, the latch on his chamber doors sounded, and he knew he was left once more to himself. His smile faded into frown, that same forced smile he always had when she was around. Now that he was alone, he could ponder more to himself. And those bitter thoughts were always successful into lulling him to sleep.

* * *

It was almost dinnertime and the kitchen was bustling. Cooks ran to and fro, preparing several dishes for their guests to serve, and more importantly, the soon-to-be Elvenking. He was quite picky with his food ever since his return, but his wine was consistent. Erynlith entered the kitchen and approached the cook and spared him a few words. In a few moments, her hands were occupied by another silver tray, ready to be delivered to the elf prince. As she turned to leave, she bumped onto someone, spilling the wine on the elegant blue robes and shattering the glass.

"Oh, no!" She exclaimed, and looking up, it was Erestor. His robe was drenched with the liquor and he gasped at the sudden wetness. "Oh, Erestor! I am so sorry!" She attempted to grab a washcloth, but accidentally snatched the table mantle instead, and all the food was splattered on the wooden floor with a loud shattering of glass.

Everyone gasped.

"Oh, boy…" Erynlith breathed and turned to everyone. They were all glaring at her, with the exception of Erestor. Slowly, she dropped the mantle and knelt to clean the mess. Erestor quickly knelt beside her. "No, oh, please, no. Erestor, _stop_," she pleaded him.

He shook his head. "It'll be over soon."

The Silvan watched as the two elves helped each other in cleaning up the kitchen mess. Erynlith thoroughly expressed her apology to the distressed cook and his helpers. But the cook was in a terrible mood and shouted at her for messing everything. She bit her lip and nodded, and then slipped from the back of the kitchen. Erestor followed her outside, his elegant blue robe still damp. Erynlith noticed and tapped the damp part, hoping to get it dry soon.

"I am very sorry, brother, tra-la," she sang, smiling up at him. "Too clumsy for the kitchen, huh?"

He laughed softly. "Oh, I'll say. You're better off in the outpost than in the kitchen. Are you alright? The cook shouted at you too much?"

"I really deserve it, you know. Now, they'll have to redo everything they worked for. I just hope Thranduil is not yet too hungry or he'll lash out in anger, tra-la." She trailed it off with a slight laughter. Suddenly, she turned sober, and her probing hands on his robe stopped to clutch the cloth on his chest.

In an instant, he looked at her worriedly. "What's the matter?"

"He scares me, Erestor. Thranduil really does. I don't know what has gotten into him, tra-lo. Our conversations are always lighthearted like before, but there is something about him that always scares me. I am not sure if it is the scowling or the harsh words about other people, but…" She sniffed, as though she was a crying elfling.

"Does he speak rashly to you?" Erestor questioned, instantly annoyed. Thranduil had isolated himself with Erynlith, and Erestor had no idea how they usually spent their time together in the chambers.

"That's not what I meant!" She was quick to defend the elf prince. "What I am trying to say is: Thranduil is different. He is not the same laidback and haughty elf that I remember. I know it has something to do with the loss of King Oropher, or maybe even King Amdír and the High King. Or maybe what drive him frustrated always are his wounds, tra-lay. He always complains about his eyes, how he wanted to see and do things like before. I sympathize with him, I really do, but he shrugs everything off, tra-lo. His greatly dislikes the idea of Elrond and the others staying here. It is like he doesn't want other people around him. I don't know what else to do, Erestor."

"He seems to enjoy your company," he offered uselessly.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, thank you for noticing. But… you said so yourself, right? Should I really return to Rivendell? Can I not stay here for a few more years?"

"Eryn, Thranduil cannot rely on you forever. He is supposed to be an Elvenking soon. He will have countless of counselors and captains to attend to his every need. You have no reason to stay… unless you decide to pledge yourself to him."

Erynlith gasped at that unthinkable offer. "Erestor! Do you even hear yourself?"

"I know! I'm sorry I mentioned it. But unless you have some sort of commitment here in Greenwood, you cannot stay any longer. Everyone in Rivendell misses you: Lady Celebrían, Lindir, and Gildor— especially Gildor. He is already ticked off to travel with you again, and to influence you with his crazy antics. And Elrond and I need you." Erestor paused and placed both hands on her shoulders, holding her firmly. She looked up to him attentively, her grey eyes meeting his own. "Do you remember what the High King asked of you before he left?"

She tried to remember. It had been so _freaking_ long. "To stay by Elrond's side in Rivendell, because he will need us, tra-lay."

"Exactly," Erestor said and kissed her forehead. "Do the High King a favor, _please_. I am sure he will appreciate it from the White Shores."

She nodded. "But what of Thranduil? Elrond says it will still take months for him to recover. And his eyesight is still terrible, tra-la…"

"I would be more worried about his kingship."

"What do you mean by that?"

He blinked at her. How could she not know? She spent more time with the elf prince, right? Thranduil must have given her hints. It was either Erynlith was back in her usual clueless self or the prince never really made mention of his plan. Erestor shook his head in answer.

"Thranduil plans to refuse the kingship, to refuse his father's crown and be Elvenking."

"No…" She gasped. "How could he even think of that?"

"Apparently, he does. Elrond thinks Thranduil will refuse the kingship without waiting for his full recovery. He feels too down to be king at the moment."

"Then enlighten him." She shrugged.

"That's it," the other elf beamed at her. "Eryn, you're a genius!"

"I know, brother, tra-la!" She sang happily.

"No! I mean, yes, you should really enlighten Thranduil. Coax him into becoming king." Now, Erestor was filled with hope. He sincerely wanted Thranduil to take the crown.

"I don't go around coaxing people to do things, brother…" Erynlith countered.

"But he needs you… Before returning to Rivendell, give him your final counsel." And with that, Erestor left, the need to replace with damp robe had risen. At this new conversation, he wanted to see Elrond and Círdan. He believed Erynlith could talk things out with Thranduil.

He never listened to anyone except her, after all.

* * *

*_Flower Song _\- Writer unknown

**Author's Notes:** Brooding Thranduil! *shudders* I think he needs more love. Awww. I think we would have a little misunderstanding between Eryn and Thrandy, so we shall see how it would turn out. Stay tuned!

***Limbairedhiel** \- No worries; fabulous Thrandy will not stay blind for too long. I could imagine him going, "It's just a phase!", and then walk away. Even if he needs Eryn, there is also Erestor, sooo there could be a catfight. LOL.

***Asmodeus Black** \- Guess you'll have to read more to find out. Ha-ha! And I hope this quick (?) update satisfies you. Cheers!

***Nuredhel** \- Oh, welcome! Nice to have you here! Thank you for a wonderful review! Eryn could sure be a handful. You could ask Erestor about it. XD

***llcyyxx** \- I am glad Erestor is faring well in your home. I could be a little mischievous once he gets comfortable there. Mixing honey and milk seems very helpful; I should try that with Thrandy next time, to make him stop brooding. And awww, good luck on your Duke of Edinburgh practices! Say hi to the #scaryllamas for me!

***xSiriuslyPadfoot** \- Loki with a kitty! How sweet! Yes, poor Thrandy. *sniffs* Oh, and about the Haldir/OC fic, I still haven't written anything but I have the plot and personality of the characters planned. Hopefully, after some of my other stories, I could start and publish it right away! Sorry of it takes too long.

***R****ousdower** \- Heyyy, Rousy! Erestor has been a bad elf lately. Bad, Erestor, bad!

***Charlottees** \- Welcome and pleased to meet you! Thank you for such a wonderful review; I have been grinning like a child while reading it. And about An Unexpected Adventure, it is my first story and the way of writing and plot is very amateur. *cringes* Hope you enjoy this story more. See you~!

**P.S.** Thank you all for reading and reviewing! I hope you enjoy reading the chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. See you all next time!


	29. Power of Words

**Chapter 29**

_**Power of Words**_

* * *

The Prince was not impressed.

He was awoken from his peaceful slumber, only to find out that his companion was gone and another servant walked up on his bedside to tell him that Elrond wanted to see him. In his wonder, he reluctantly agreed. His co-attendant Amardís assisted him into getting out of bed and marching into the hall Elrond had asked.

And now, well now, the Lord of Rivendell had just the very _nerve_ to bring ill-news to him.

"What did you say?" Thranduil snapped. He sat on a cushioned chair; hands neatly folded atop a wooden table. His robe was grey and heavy. But, around his head, was a white cloth which covered his eyes still.

"I will have to return to Rivendell," said Elrond calmly. He stood on the other side of the room; his dark hair glinted as the flames of the candles danced with the wind. "It has been a month. Although the enemy has perished, I and my people are still wary and restless. We wish to return sooner."

Thranduil scoffed. "I understand your reasoning, Lord Elrond. Pray tell me why Erfaron has to travel with you?" But he already knew the answer; he simply refused to admit it. He had no authority over her. The decisions should come from her, but Elrond and Erestor influenced this decision-making. He knew very well that Erynlith had been homesick, but he also knew she was happy in Greenwood.

Elrond did not want to admit that the reason behind it was Erestor's stubbornness. The captain was never demanding about his wants; he was one of the most soft-spoken and modest elves Elrond knew. Odds seemed to turn when Erestor began to feel restless. He was becoming more anxious about returning to Rivendell with Erynlith, where he knew they could be safe. His reason for allowing her to stay in Greenwood was because of King Amdír: that the Sinda trusted his niece enough to King Oropher. But both kings were gone. And the two heirs were disheartened. Amroth was faring well, so to speak; Thranduil was not. How could Erestor leave Erynlith with such an unstable elf, with no desires whatsoever to even run his own kingdom?

"I am sorry, but Erynlith has expressed her want to return to us," Elrond finally said, and he saw Thranduil's brows furrowed.

"…What?" Thranduil could not believe what he was hearing. First, he lost his father and almost the entire Silvan army. Second, he lost his eyesight and consequently, the burn on his cheek had still not faded. And lastly, the one elf he was relying on wanted to leave him. If she left, where would he turn to? To whom would he talk about his thoughts, his plans? Certainly not Raithon or Santien. Thranduil carefully chose his next words. He would never want for Elrond to hear the words, but it could not be helped.

"Does this something to do with my refusal of the kingship?"

"Only Erestor can answer that," Elrond answered truthfully. But then he added: "I know it sounds hard, but Erestor wants to have her back. He has gone quite… possessive of her over the years."

"I understand," Thranduil whispered. Indeed, he had _no_ authority over her. Technically, no matter how someone would put it, Erestor raised Erynlith; he was almost her father, and he had every right to claim her. And who was Thranduil? A prince too somber to take his kingdom. He knew that eventually, he would claim Greenwood as his own. But not now, not when he was vulnerable to his people. How could he rule with his temporary blindness? And with the searing burn on his left cheek, he feared that not even time could make it fade. Then, he bit his lip and ran a finger across his covered eyes, and felt his left cheek. A stinging sensation was there, and he growled lowly. If he were to be Elvenking, he would have given anything to get rid of these wounds quick.

"I will have to check on my companions," Elrond said, standing up. He was aware of Thranduil's stillness and knew what was wrong. "Should I ask for Lady Amardís to return you to your chambers?"

"No, thank you. I can find my way back on my own."

Thranduil carefully slid past Elrond, their shoulders brushing briefly, and the door was shut softly. It was the last thing he would need from him: his pity. He had already made it clear that he wanted nobody to pity on him. An Elvenking should not be pitied on. Luckily, he knew these halls well, having lived there for well nigh three thousand years. He calculated each step, careful not to pass an important crease on the corridor. As he turned left, he felt someone bump into him, and he heard a slight gasp. His ear perked up at the voice. It was a female's voice, but not Erynlith's. He knew her voice too well.

"Celairis," he addressed the female counselor. He knew it was her from the whiff of rosemary that she had always coated her dark hair with. There was a great difference between Erynlith's foresty scent and Celairis's flowery one. And he loved the forest scent more. "Where are your manners?"

The dark Silvan beauty quickly bowed. "Forgive me, my lord. I was lost in thought while striding. I did not intend to run into you."

"Are you on your way to your chambers, then?" Thranduil asked, making a small talk. He had not heard of her for a while, but he knew she did her duty in the palace well.

"I have a council to attend to, my lord," Celairis answered. Her pale skin gleamed under the moonlight, and her silver-blue dress shone. Her hair was darker than any other of the Silvan folk, like a depthless oblivion, beautiful and mysterious.

"At this time of the night?" he mused. Despite the darkness that was his vision, he could tell it was nighttime already; quite late in the night in fact.

"Yes, the other counselors are waiting."

"Never mind them," Thranduil said and began to walk off again. He could feel Celairis's bright blue eyes following him in utter disbelief. He turned back to her, slightly smiling, and said: "You can have your council tomorrow morning. Come and join me for an evening walk. I want to hear all your reports about the management of the palace."

"Of course, my lord," Celairis answered and followed behind him. Her narration of the reports began, and Thranduil listened attentively.

For the first time since his arrival a month ago, he allowed someone to get close to him, and that was his most trusted counselor, the dark beauty of Greenwood.

* * *

"Hurry! Hurry!"

Thranduil groaned for the umpteenth time. If only his eyes were not obscured, he could have already rolled them on the beckoning younger elf. She grasped his hand, desperately pulling him to follow her. She was beaming like a child, and he had no idea why there were outside the palace. He initially refused the idea of coming out of the comfort of his chambers, but she insisted anyway, like she always did.

"Can't you be any slower?" Erynlith sighed exasperatedly. She clasped his right hand and pulled him forward.

But Thranduil continued lagging behind; he was on the edge of whining. "Where are we even going?"

"Come on! It's spring and the bluebell meadow is blooming wonderfully! The view of the river is good and there are butterflies and—"

He forcefully snatched his hand away from hers.

"Do you forget who I am?" He sounded bitter. "Or do you wish to mock me? You are aware of my condition? Do you forget that I am _blind_?!" He shouted at her, and he had never done that before.

Erynlith fell silent. She knew how much he was frustrated about that accursed blindness, and all she wanted was to lighten him up. The atmosphere in his chambers was almost too tensed with his fiery temper. It was Elrond who suggested to take the Prince elsewhere, to freshen up his mind. And she thought bringing him to the meadow where they hung out before would indeed freshen it up. She never thought he would bring up the topic of his blindness again, even it was temporary. That fact alone made him more frustrated with other people and himself.

Slowly, she made her way back to him and took his hand again. He flinched at her touch, not expecting such a gesture. Normally, whenever he lashed out something to her, she would get angry as well and walk away. He expected to be left alone in the forest after he raised his voice on her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, looking up at him and meeting the white covers of his eyes. "Let us return to the palace right now then…"

As she pulled him back towards the other direction, he shook his head silently. He urged her to move forward again, and then whispered: "No, _mellon nin_. Show me everything."

At those words, she quickly smiled and he let himself to be led. It was not long until he heard the rushing waters of Anduin, and the silent breeze of the spring air.

Erynlith carefully guided him to sit in the middle of the meadow; the blooming beauty of the bluebells surrounding them. They spoke not to each other; they never had to speak. Silence was both their comfort. After a while, Thranduil heard some fumbling noises and a little hum from his companion. A humming Erynlith was never a good sign! It always brought out all her hidden antics and the people around her had to deal with whatever gibberish she had.

He suppressed a groan and leaned back; his arms supporting his upper body weight. "Please don't tell me you're making a flower crown."

She laughed quietly. "Alright, I will not tell you, tra-la-la."

"And you can't make me wear that."

"You are a king, and a king wears crown, tra-lay" she sang. "Well, you are not king yet, but you will be. This flower crown is a temporary crown, tra-lo." She reached out and laid the crown atop his head, silently admiring her work. Thranduil tried to imagine how ridiculous he must have looked at that moment.

"Oh, this is so embarrassing." He groaned. But slowly, a small smile curled up his lips.

"See? You're smiling!" She beamed at him. On her skirt, she had more bluebells to make into smaller bracelets. She would give them to Erestor and Elrond, and if Lord Círdan wanted one, she would make one for him as well. She looked again at Thranduil who was feeling the flower crown on his head. "The Elvenking always wears a crown of berries, maybe next time you can wear flowers, too."

Thranduil shook his head. "I will not take the kingship. I am thinking of merging Greenwood back to Lórinand—let Amroth rule the Silvan altogether. Their culture is one and the same, and he will make a good king for a long time. As for myself, perhaps I can retreat into a simpler lifestyle. Maybe become a counselor… or a butler."

"Oh, please. You cannot simply throw thousands of year's worth of effort for a burn, Thranduil. Lord Elrond himself states that it will heal, tra-la. You only have to be patient. A month has gone by, and your cheek is healing. If you surrender everything to Amroth, where would you place yourself? Surely, King Oropher would not want to see his realm fall. You have people to help you: Santien, Raithon, and even Lady Celairis. You have time to build Greenwood again, to pick up the fallen pieces, and then, you might finally start building the northern fortress you and your father wanted, tra-lo. Is it not what you wanted the most? To live in an underground palace reminiscent to that of the Hidden King?"

He shook his head. "I want something more. I want to _see_ you."

"And you will," Erynlith reassured him, cupping his cheek lightly. He sighed. "You will see me soon enough, _mellon nin_. When you will, you are already king and I will be clapping at your speech. Trust me on that." She leaned closer and planted the swift kiss on his covered eyes.

Suddenly, he felt mischievous. "And who would be my consort then?"

"How should I know?" She shrugged and continued connecting a flower stem to another, creating bracelets. "Maybe you can ask one of the Silvan maidens. Lady Celairis has been very kind to me and she's very pretty, too. Or maybe Santien!" She laughed. "Santien will make a fearsome queen I'm sure."

"Raithon has already claimed her," he answered with a hint of disappointment. "And Celairis is too choked up in her counselor duties."

"She's really pretty, though. Lots of the guards fancy her, tra-la. You should visit Rivendell sometime," Erynlith offered again, her full attention focused on the flowers. "I know some interesting maidens there. Erestor doesn't like them flocking about him in the morning, tra-lil-lay," she continued, followed by a faint laugh.

He smiled softly. "My father once told that there is always someone out there for me, with love in her eyes and flowers in her hair…"

Erynlith paused, as though assessing the weight of his statement. "But I am returning to Rivendell soon. Erestor says so…"

"You really cannot think straight when Erestor is involved, can you?" Thranduil spat. The previous heartwarming moment was quickly dissolved. "How could you let him decide on everything about you? Are you some sort of a child who needs guidance from her parents? Is he really that important to you— that you would rather stay with him because he wants to, and abandon what _you_ want?"

"I do it because I love him, Thranduil," Erynlith answered harshly. "If there is someone I should follow for all eternity, it would be Erestor, and no one else. There could be no greater love I have than for him. He is my brother."

"No, he is _not_!" He seethed. "He is _not_ your brother! The two of you are not even blood-related! It just so happened that your parents died and Erestor had no better choice than to take you in _out of pity_!"

Erynlith bit her lower lip, tears silently rolling down her cheeks. The flower bracelet she was working on was crumpled in her fist. How could she even make him understand?

At length, she stood up and began to walk away. "I am done here," were her only words for him. "I'll send someone to pick you up."

"I don't need your pity," Thranduil angrily barked at her.

With that, she sped off into the forest; her silent cries were heard by him. And he sat there in the meadow, the breeze caressing his face. For a moment, he pondered about his harsh words—on how could a beautiful day turn into a bitter one after a fleeting moment of temper. It was always like that with her. Even if he wanted to stay with her as long as possible, something seemed to get in the way. _Always_. He knew well that he had hurt her feelings; he regretted it. But as prideful as he was: No, he would not take his words back. He could apologize, but the words he said would always be there. And it made her cry. He felt a pang in his chest as he remembered her sobs.

_Now what?_ He asked himself. It was clear that he did not want any help, especially from one of the elf guards, if Erynlith would send for them. Thranduil grunted and stood up, dusting off an invisible dust off his silver robes. He turned and carefully traced his steps back, his hands attentively probing around for trees and branches. He almost tripped on an uprooted root, and he gritted his teeth in frustration. As he continued his solitary way back into the palace, he felt someone else's presence. And he did not like it.

"I know you're there," he warned casually, straightening himself. "I already said so: you cannot sneak up on me, _Erfaron_." He hissed the name softly.

Erynlith emerged from the flock of trees, her grey eyes still drenched with tears. She was angry at him, for all the harsh words that he said. She blamed him for it, but she could not bring it to herself to leave him alone, not with his condition like that. It would be utter selfishness if she did so.

Silently, she walked up to him and took his hand into hers, guiding him back towards the palace. Thranduil, quiet as he was, allowed himself to be led.

Such was a complicated understanding, but their invisible red string always had a way to pull them back together.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Man, have I been gone for too long or what? Sorry for the rather late update. I was busy doing adult stuff. *cries*

Hooboy! Everything tenses up with Elrond's announcement. Good thing Thrandy still has his sass to counter Elrond. And Erynlith; if I were her, I would have been pretty scared with all the shouting. *shudders*

***Asmodeus Black** \- I hope this chapter kinda answers your questions. Erestor really wants things to be done his way. LOL.

***DeLacus** \- Yoo! We missed you last chapter, but you made it back! Thank you, and I am sure Thrandy would want your hug, too.~

***Treesaw **\- Thank you for leaving a review! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

**P.S.** Things would be like a roller-coaster ride in the next several chapters, and it may go downhill from there onwards. Take this as my advance apology for taking the story there! *hides* Oh, and thank you all for reading! Have a wonderful day ahead!


	30. The Shadow Between Us

**Chapter 30**

_**The Shadow Between Us**_

* * *

The time had come.

Three days after the harsh confrontation in the meadow, Thranduil had finally opened himself for the inevitable. Elrond would take his people home to Rivendell.

Everyone was prepared to travel; the once battle-ready soldiers were smiling at the thought of going home. Travelling gears were set upon the horses; some of Greenwood's finest wine was offered to Elrond. And the two elf lords thanked each other; though Thranduil was more troubled by the fact that Erynlith had not talked to him for three days. He knew she was evading him, and her usual work in his chambers was taken up by the handmaiden Amardís. From what he could guess, Erestor was delighted to know that his so-called sister would come back with him, and that Thranduil had nothing else to say against it.

The day was beautiful—a perfect time for travelling. Everyone was lined up in front, and all they waited were their lords. Círdan of the Havens walked out first; his beard was silver and his robes blue. He was followed shortly by Erestor and Erynlith; the latter clinging tightly on her brother's arm. It was the way he wanted, and he was too satisfied for words. But he also knew that Erynlith was disheartened of leaving. She had told him of Thranduil's words, of the very words that broke her heart.

"You are my brother, right, Erestor?" She asked him one time when they were alone. Her voice sounded like she doubted even herself. The flower bracelet that she had accidentally crumpled was tied around Erestor's slender wrist, and he did not mind wearing it.

He remembered smiling at her and patted her head. "Of course, I am. Now, who would even tell you otherwise?"

"Thranduil." Her answer was simple. Then, she proceeded to tell everything that had happened.

Tears fell from his eyes. Erestor reached out for her and embraced her tightly, as though afraid to let her go.

* * *

The horses were mustered out by Raithon and some of his guards. Arcastar was among them, Erynlith's black horse. For a moment, she smiled at Raithon. The Sindarin captain knew about her departure. He, too, did not want her to leave. Erynlith walked up to him and embraced him as a final farewell gift. The captain flinched, not expecting that kind of treatment, but soon melted in her arms and patted her back.

"If I could only make you stay, I would have done it already."

Despite what others could say, Raithon kissed her forehead as farewell. "Take care of yourself, Erfaron."

"The name is Erynlith, tra-la," she sang. "Everyone seems to forget now."

Raithon laughed warmly. "I cannot help it. Santien wants to send her regards. You know her: too introverted to even say goodbye. But she wishes you well. Everyone in the infirmary and outpost says you will be missed. Especially the guards, you know."

"You can visit me in Rivendell."

"Or maybe you can return here."

At that, she hesitated. Would she return? Was she even welcome to return? She did not want to know the answer. Instead, she smiled at her friend and returned beside Erestor.

By this time, Elrond and Thranduil emerged from the palace's grand entrance. Behind the elf prince was the dark beauty Celairis, ready to attend to the Sinda's needs. She spared a small smile to Erynlith, acknowledging her departure, before turning her attention back to the monarch. Elrond and Thranduil shared more words, some of wisdom, of reluctant friendship and alliance, and of assurance that Thranduil would see again in no time. Elrond handed him a pouch of _athelas_ and was received by Celairis.

"Take care now," the Lord of Rivendell reprimanded cordially. "We shall send some messages to each other; keep our realms connected in one way or another."

"Perhaps," the Sindarin monarch answered.

"You are welcome to visit Rivendell anytime," Elrond continued.

This time, Thranduil shook his head. "I would not count on it, Lord Elrond. Greenwood would be busy for the next hundred years. There are many things to be done. But we shall see."

Elrond smiled. "You will take the crown of the King now?"

"I cannot say."

For one thing, he refused to discuss these matters with Elrond. After a few more idle talks, which Thranduil hoped that would end soon, Elrond finally made his final farewell and returned to his travelling companions. He mounted his horse, and so did Círdan and Erestor, but Erynlith remained on the ground. She made her way towards him, reluctant at first, but she knew she had to do it. The harsh words that Thranduil had spared before were still fresh and hurtful, and she downright refused to talk to him. And as she went closer, he could feel her presence, taking a whiff of her forest scent. The beautiful dark-haired counselor behind him excused herself, giving time for the two elves to say their farewells.

Erynlith stood before Thranduil, a head shorter than him. He carefully reached out for her, for the hands and shoulder. He could feel the satin dress she wore, and her hair braided and brushed to the side. His hands wandered above, his fingers brushing her neck and jaw line. Then, he felt for her lips, but she did not move. Were there any more words to say? His hand settled on her cheek, his thumb running across the supple surface. He felt her scoot closer to him, so that he felt her warm breath ghosting about his neck.

"Would you sing for me one last time?"

She complied, running her fingers ever so gently across his cheek, and began to sing in a hushed voice:

*"_With a sigh, you turn away_

_With a deepening heart, no more words to say_

_You will find that the world has changed _

_Forever._

_And the trees are now turning from green to gold_

_And the sun is now fading_

_I wish I could hold you _

_Closer."_

After her song, she bit her lower lip and looked up to study his face. His lips began to stretch in a small smile, whilst his strong hands pulled her closer to him. She sighed in his arms, basking in his warmth and scent.

"Become a king, promise?" Erynlith whispered, and her voice was trembling at their closeness.

He nodded and rested his chin on the crown of her umber head.

"I am, indeed, a king, because I know how to rule myself."

Erynlith tiptoed. For a moment there, Thranduil thought she would do something reckless. His hopes were in vain when he felt her kiss his bandaged cheek instead.

With that, she pulled away from him and sped back to her friends. Arcastar was ready to be mounted, and when his rider did, he reared and neighed eagerly. Erestor handed her a grey cloak and a pair of familiar white daggers. He smiled at Erynlith knowingly, implying that the High Pass that they would take could be as dangerous as the first day. She smiled and received her weapons.

Someone from the caravan blew the elven-horn, and the first line of soldiers began to march. Between the companies, the mounted lords and lady rode off.

"Are you sad?" Erestor asked Erynlith. His face was contorted into a look of genuine concern.

She shook her head and smiled at him. "As long as we're together, I will never be."

* * *

_I was never in love with someone else_

_I never had somebody waiting on me_

_'Cause you were all of my dreams come true_

_And I just wish you knew _

_Baby, I was so in love with you._

* * *

As the caravan moved on and faded into the horizon, Thranduil stood in the middle of the field, quiet and heedless. _Now what?_ The question lingered in his mind. He felt lost. He was lost without her. If we would be an Elvenking, there was one queen in his mind. But now she was gone, and he might not see her again. There were many things he wanted to tell her, many things that he carefully thought of the night before. _I want you to know how I feel_, he thought bitterly. _You have no idea how much I care about you—how much I love you._

"My lord?"

Someone shifted his thoughts away. And he recognized that fair voice—Celairis.

"Should we return to the palace now?"

He nodded reluctantly. He turned to follow her but he felt a hand slipping with his. For a moment, he flinched, thinking that the hand belonged to Erynlith, but the hand was softer than Erynlith's, and he realized that it was Celairis who held him. The counselor gently guided him back into the palace, and they were greeted by Raithon and his guards.

His thoughts wandered again: to Erynlith's last words from King Oropher's:

"_I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my kingdom."_

Thranduil promised to himself thereafter, that he would be the greatest Elvenking in Middle-earth, and no childish love would sway him from his goals.

* * *

*_A Shadow Lies Between Us_ \- Arwen's song from _The Return of the King_ film

**_Enchanted_ \- Adam Young (I was listening to the song and thought it would be fitting the situation. It also gives more feels, of course!)

**Next Chapter:** When his accursed blindness dissipates, Thranduil settles his eyes on someone else. Meanwhile, the Elves of Rivendell reminisce about the fallen High King.

**Author's Notes:** *sighs* There it goes_—_the last feel I give. Seriously though, I feel quite sad on these turn of events; why did I even write it in the first place? This would probably the last chapter with Eryn and Thrandy together, since there will be a _huge_ shadow between them. Feel here, feels there. Hoped you guys enjoyed this one!

***DeLacus** \- Yes, Thrandy has been a very bad elf lately. I already sent him to his room to think about what he has done. Celairis could be an important figure, but we'll see. And awww, Raithon and Santien is indeed a thing. MUAHAHAHA!

***Asmodeus Black** \- No worries, friend, Thrandy will have his vision next chapter; though I am afraid that Eryn will be out of his sight for a very looongg time! I am glad it has become your favourite!

***Treesaw** \- Thank you as well~!


	31. The Elegy

**Chapter 31**

_**The Elegy**_

* * *

The silent journey was broken when the High Pass finally came to an end, and the valley wherein Rivendell was hidden came on sight. The soldiers in the front line rejoiced and spoke eagerly in their native elven-tongue. Elrond's banner of silver was held higher and the horn was blown to announce their arrival. In the ensuing festivities, Erynlith's eyes grew wide; years of being away from home registering in her mind. She kicked on her steed's sides, sending Arcastar running off into the blue. Elrond and his companions laughed at her eagerness and followed her trail.

Rivendell was just as she had left it: beautiful and majestic. The bubbling noises of the stream welcomed her first, followed by the sunlight that emanated from the cliffs. Arcastar passed the approach bridge and neighed wildly, further announcing their return.

As Erynlith slid off the back, the elves that remained there quickly emerged. One by one, the courtyard was filled with familiar faces. Celebrían smiled and threw her arms around Erynlith; the two maidens laughing at their reunion. The silver-haired lady was followed by both Lindir and Gildor, who seemed to be racing down the staircase.

"Erynlith!" the golden-haired elf exclaimed and admitted her into an embrace. Gildor was laughing with her, not caring if his long white robes were grazing the dusty ground. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder as Elrond and his company arrived.

Celebrían rushed over to Elrond, and he quickly kissed her forehead. Lovers sundered for seven years of warfare. And the lady was more than delighted that her beloved returned safe and sound, with all the companions he set out with. She smiled at Erestor and Círdan, and then her grey eyes searched for someone else. The High King was not present. She looked up at Elrond. He spoke no words to her. He only shook his head and looked wistful.

But the reunion did not stop there.

Lindir approached Erynlith with a knowing smile. "You have been gone for a long time, Eryn."

She chose to ignore the petty nickname. She proceeded to embrace him, and the minstrel laughed. "All roads lead to home, tra-la-lay." Ah, she missed her singing.

"That sounds like a good title for a song," Lindir beamed at her. "Perhaps we can work on it soon. The others will sure be looking forward to it."

"Let us come inside now!" Elrond enthusiastically announced.

Thus, the festivities in Rivendell began. The kitchen was bustling and the stewards of the household ran to and fro. At dinnertime, everyone was gathered in the Halls of Fire; a long table was prepared for the foods. Lindir led the minstrels in singing festive elven songs, many of those he learned while still living in Lindon. Erestor and Erynlith were occupied on one corner by Gildor, who breathlessly narrated about all his travel in the far South. There was much singing and drinking in the Halls.

Suddenly, everyone fell silent. The once festive melody turned into a quiet elegy.

Lindir and his minstrels began. Everyone listened to the elegy, their hearts quietly mourning for the loss of the great High King. Celebrían wept on Elrond's shoulder. She loved the High King like a brother, and they were akin to each other. She lived with him in Lindon in her youth, just before she had met Elrond. Everyone loved their High King, and it was the greatest loss they had.

As Erynlith stood on the corner, she leaned closer to Erestor for comfort. She was happy she was not one of the minstrels singing the elegy, or she would have cried right there on the spot. She could tell the minstrels wanted to stop, but Lindir urged them on; the feeling of honoring the High King was there.

When the elegy ended, everyone returned to their respective chambers. No one ever spoke another word about the lost High King.

* * *

In Greenwood, Thranduil felt different. There were three elves inside his chambers, and although he trusted them with his life, he still felt different. Celairis was fumbling through the bandages above his ears, carefully unknotting it. He could feel her face near his, as she reached out behind his head. And she leaned back, carrying the bandages along with it. He was silent, as the bandages slipped slowly from his eyes.

"Are you ready?" Celairis asked with obvious excitement. Behind her, Santien and Raithon waited.

Thranduil only nodded his head.

She proceeded to pull the bandages away. The cloth fell in a heap in her hands, and she looked up to Thranduil. He still had his eyes closed, as in the manner for almost three months.

With a slight urge from his female counselor, he fluttered his eyes open, reluctantly as he did so. The first face he saw was fair and beautiful, bright blue eyes contrasting her ever dark hair; and she was smiling as his unsteady vision slowly focused on her. He blinked once, and then twice. Indeed, it felt different. Absentmindedly, his hand reached out for her face. It felt unbelievable for him to be able to see once more.

Celairis smiled. "What do you think, my lord? Does it look alright?"

"Yes," he answered. The breath he did not know he held was sighed. "Yes, I remember your face, Celairis." He smile grew wider as he looked around his chambers. Everything looked so familiar.

Behind his counselor, Santien and Raithon walked up to him, and both congratulated his returned eyesight.

"I can see again…" Thranduil drawled in disbelief. He soothed his left cheek, and though it was still burned, it did not matter anymore. He could finally _see_.

"You _like_ what you see?" Raithon teased his friend, innocently gesturing towards the Chief Counselor.

The Prince laughed quietly. "Oh, I do, very much."

"Will this be the end of your brooding, Thranduil?" Santien asked. An unusual smile was on her face. The auburn-haired healer helped Elrond with the medicinal herbs, and she learned so much from him. She was grateful in learning from one of the world's master healers.

Thranduil shifted and leaned his back against the headboard. His counselor was sitting on the edge of his bed. "I hope so," he answered thoughtfully. "Now then, shall we have a celebration? Invite the newly-crowned King Amroth of Lórinand and his entourage. Let the King's wine cellar be opened."

"King?" Raithon repeated enthusiastically. He heard from Erestor of his friend's refusal to take the crown of his father.

"Yes," Thranduil answered again. "It is about time Greenwood takes on a new Elvenking, wouldn't you agree, my friends?"

"Excellent choice, my lord," Celairis said, standing up from the bed. "Shall I inform the other counselors?"

He nodded. "Yes, please. Thank you, Celairis."

The counselor smiled and nodded. She left the chambers to Thranduil and his friends. When she was gone, Santien took her place and sat on the edge of the bed, whilst Raithon put his arms across his chest. He looked at the elf prince, whose infamous smirk was plastered again on his handsome face. One could tell that his mood had been lifted eve since the return of his sight. Raithon hoped that his friend would stay the same and rule over their Silvan folk with the same uplifted spirit.

"What made you change your mind?" The Captain of the Elven-guard raised a slender eyebrow as he inquired.

Thranduil paused for a moment, looking up at his friend. Even the healer who sat beside him wondered about the answer. At length, he smiled and said: "It is not 'what', my friend. It is 'who'."

"She has great influence over you, hasn't she?" Santien mused.

He laughed. "I am afraid so."

"Is it really okay to let her leave like that? You know you can still chase after her. Rivendell is just one mountain away, and the High Pass is accessible," Raithon pointed out.

Thranduil shook his head. "There is no need to force myself upon someone. I am sure she is happy in Rivendell with her family and friends. As for myself, I would rather focus on the rebuilding of the kingdom. We should make Greenwood more prosperous than Lórinand. I'd like to see Amroth's envious face when that happens."

"We'll get that done right away, my lord." Raithon laughed. There could be no more joy to him than to see his friend take the crown.

Down the Elvenking's halls, Celairis assembled the other counselors of the previous King Oropher. All had sour looks on the faces; none was too pleased to have someone, a female, to lead the counseling group. The other counselors were aware that Thranduil trusted Celairis more than anyone, and it made them indifferent towards the soon-to-be Elvenking. Rumors had it that some of the counselors wanted to usurp the throne should Thranduil refuse it. The idea of merging with Amroth's Lórinand they despised, and even thought that the King's son was insane. No one else was more aware than this than Celairis, and she was proud to announce that Thranduil chose to take the crown.

"Lord Thranduil has come into his final decision," Celairis began. Her voice was powerful and full of authority. "Today he regained his vision and announced his intention of retaking the title of King of Greenwood. He has ordered a little celebration, which would be shared with our neighbors at Lórinand; King Amroth and his entourage should arrive soon."

A great murmuring commenced amongst the counselors.

Her bright eyes dimmed with warning. "I am aware of the intention to usurp the throne from the King. But let me tell you this: I will not mention any of it to the King. Such a petty conception is not to be dealt by him. Whoever wishes to continue that objective, I am sure the Captain of the Guards will hunt you down. Moreover, you will answer to the Elvenking Thranduil himself."

* * *

Erynlith knocked on Erestor's chamber doors. No answer came. How odd for him not to answer his door. It was not even midnight yet; he couldn't have fallen into reverie that fast. Lindir and the other stewards cleaned the Halls of Fire after the elegy, and Elrond and Celebrían retreated into their respective chambers. Erestor and Círdan left after that; Erynlith was once again occupied by Gildor. The Ñoldo forced, almost pleaded, her to come with him to his next travel. He planned on accompanying Lord Círdan back to the Havens, but Erynlith declined. She was not up for anything at the moment.

"I'm coming in, tra-lil-lay," she announced in her singsong, opening the large double doors.

She poked her head in, looking for her brother. She blinked when the bed was unoccupied. Where could he be? Finally, she entered and the latch of the doors clicked softly. A single candle illuminated the room, and it stood on Erestor's desk. And there he was: the dark-haired captain and Elrond's-almost-chief-counselor dozing off on his desk. His arms pillowed his dark head as his back rose slightly from his faint breathing.

Erynlith smiled at the sight and approached his bed to get a blanket. She draped it over his shoulder and tucked it under his chin. Then, she noticed the crumpled papers on his desk; the ink of his quill carelessly spilled on his fingers. One paper was laid out, also stained with the ink, and it had something written there. She pulled the paper from under Erestor's elbow and began to read it. It was written in Tengwar:

"_His sword was long, his lance was keen._

_His shining helm afar was seen;_

_the countless stars of heaven's field_

_were mirrored in his silver shield."_

Erestor recounted on how the High King looked during his final battle, his final confrontation with the Dark Lord. And Erynlith distinctly remembered how the King looked like before he left for the battlefield, in that morning when he said his farewell to her and asked her to stay with Elrond. Again, she felt a lump in her throat, and sadness filled her being.

Carefully, she took the quill and drenched it with the black ink, continuing Erestor's unfinished poem.

* * *

After Celairis's announcement, the counselors huddled to themselves and began whispering again. Many expressed their dislike of the "atrocious" Thranduil and how he would become a tyrant during his reign. Some were offended by Celairis's words about the Captain of the Guard hunting them; for one thing, the counselors of the King were mentally and orally sharp, not physically. The thought of Raithon running after them with a sword on hand was exceptionally terrifying. None in Greenwood would dare to induce the wrath of the Captain, no matter how laidback he could be. Others hated Celairis—her downright honesty and announcement of the planned usurpation.

"But how did she know?" One of the counselors barked angrily.

"Someone must be providing her all the details!" Another counselor gasped.

"Or she must be eavesdropping!"

The counselors quickly looked around them. The halls were dimly-lit because of the night, and the corridors were unoccupied except for them. The eleven counselors huffed and returned to their discussion.

"That is impossible!" the first counselor exclaimed. "Celairis is not one of the guards. She knows nothing about stealth. I am leaning more on the idea that someone here is a traitor. Should Thranduil find out about all our plans, he could be exiled, or worse, be killed!"

"Or have Captain Raithon running with a deadly look in his face." Another one shuddered at the thought.

"If what she said was true, that Thranduil would take kingship, then the host of Lórinand will arrive soon. The crowning of the King is upon us."

Another series of murmurs continued. The counselors were once loyal to King Oropher and refused to work under Thranduil's reign. The elf prince was hostile with them even before his father was dead, thinking the counselors foolish and distrustful. It was the reason why Thranduil turned mostly to Celairis for counsel and even left the management of the palace to her when they marched off for War.

"If the throne cannot be usurped, then the place of the King's Chief Counselor should be usurped instead."

And that was when, in the middle of the night, eleven counselors of the King planned of their own realm's downfall.

* * *

Erestor's head slipped from his arm, and he jerked up from his seat. The candle fire dissipated into the late night. He yawned and stretched, rubbing his hazy eyes at the same time. He began to discard all the crumpled papers on his desk. It would be embarrassing for Elrond to see his friend in that state. As he moved from his seat, he felt the blanket slip off his shoulders and he flinched. He did not remember placing a blanket over his form. His eyes followed the fallen blanket and then widened when he saw Erynlith lying on the floor, curled up on her side. Erestor jumped onto his feet, examining her face. Like before him, she was in a deep reverie.

_Dreaming something pleasant_, Erestor thought with a smile. He carefully picked her up from the floor and laid her on his bed, draping his blanket over her. He tucked a stray umber lock behind her ear and kissed her forehead. As he moved to leave, his eyes caught the paper in Erynlith's hand. He tilted his head in wonder and took the paper. He recognized his own writing in Tengwar but as his eyes wandered lower, he did not remember adding the last part of the elegy:

"_But long ago he rode away,_

_and where he dwelleth none can say;_

_for into darkness fell his star_

_in Mordor where the shadows are."_

* * *

*_The Fall of Gil-galad_ – J.R.R. Tolkien

**Next Chapter:** To visit Rivendell or not to visit—that is the question.

**Author's Notes:** I already miss writing Erynlith/Thranduil moments. She should have been the first person Thranduil sees after his blindness. *sighs* I am going to regret separating them, am I not? Cheers for Celairis's defiance though!

***SparklesJustReads** \- Thank you for the lovely review! In all honesty, I dislike the idea of another woman going in to steal Thranduil (as you have mentioned). I like well-behaved characters, with sincerity in them, no matter how childish they may seem. Someone prancing in without depth does not deserve Thranduil's attention (or fabulousness). With my rant done, I hope you like this one.

***LovelyThorn** \- Stay tuned to find out! *insert evil laughter* Thank you for the review!

***Evangeline Pond** \- *cries and joins you in the corner* I knooow~ I ship them, too! But character development has to be done! I am sooo sorry!

***Asmodeus Black** \- Thank you! We'll see how things will work out in the next few chapters! See you then~!

***DeLacus** \- Awww, the feels are back! Yes, I do intend for Thranduil to learn and become King. With Eryn in Greenwood, he'll definitely be distracted. Come to think of it, Eryn needs a new hobby to keep herself as well. Hmmm. Oh, and thank you for stopping by!

***Charmeleonz** \- Yes, the best ones are the most difficult, but your efforts would not go to waste in the end. *fangirling* And Glorfindel? **GLORFINDEL**?! The bestest elf to grace Middle-earth? *calms down* Nah, don't worry! He'll come around in the next three chapters! Thank you for the review!

**P.S.** I am thinking of writing that Haldir/OC I promised last year, but I still cannot rack my brains to think of a name for the newest OC. If you have suggestions, even if it is just a name meaning in English, it would be greatly appreciated! I'll translate the name into Sindarin.

Thank you all for reading!


	32. Hesitation

**Chapter 32**

_**Hesitation**_

* * *

Thranduil was back in his usual work on his desk, scribbling nonsense while waiting for his Chief Counselor. He asked her to bring the feedback from the other counselors, with him being too lazy to move. He was glad his counselor did not mind doing work for him; he thought Celairis was too choked up on her work that he could actually ask her to do all his work. But no, he was not _that_ lazy. He needed to get off his desk every once in a while and see how things ran in the palace. Everyone was relieved to know that he would be crowned Elvenking soon, and King Amroth expressed his eagerness of attending the coronation.

_If only she was here_, Thranduil thought. He knew he was going nowhere with his sketch, but he did not mind. All he wanted was for Celairis to return to his chambers. At length, he got more impatient and stuffed his sketch away between clusters of books and marched outside.

It was nighttime already; most of the Silvan folk were already in their homes. As Thranduil passed the dimly lit corridors, some of the palace servants greeted and bowed to him.

"Have you seen Lady Celairis?" he asked cordially.

The Silvan girl smiled and nodded. "Yes, she is with the other counselors, my lord. I saw them last near the fountain."

"Thank you." He smiled and went away.

The fountain was located beneath the two intersecting staircases, a few steps away from the palace's entrance. One could say that it was one of the most endearing locations in the Elvenking's palace, a small wooden fountain. The water flowed from a small stream below which would eventually join the river Anduin outside the forest. Vines were etched on the fountain's edge and some Elvish script were engraved.

Thranduil poked his head from the staircase and caught glimpse of Celairis confronted by some of the counselors. He narrowed his eyes and almost jumped off the staircase when he heard someone raise his voice against her.

"What is going on here?" His voice interjected them. The Silvan counselors looked stunned and they quickly dipped their heads into a low bow.

"My lord! Your Majesty!" They simultaneously cried.

He felt an urge to roll his eyes. He made his way beside Celairis and examined her face. She looked overwhelmed and surprised at his arrival, but there was also relief that was reflected in her eyes. He could guess that whatever was happening was not very pleasant and that his trusted counselor was being cornered by the others.

Once the others straightened themselves, Thranduil glared at each of them, his blue eyes piercing them one by one. Those who were guilty would turn their eyes away.

"What seems to be the problem?"

No one answered.

He turned to the lady beside him. "Celairis? Any ideas?"

His female counselor shook her head without hesitation. She tiptoed to whisper something in his ear, and gradually, his eyes widened. He saw the other counselors flinch and he laughed mentally. When he drew back, he winked at her.

"Should you have further problems with Lady Celairis here, feel free to answer to me. And please, let us not start anything so harsh. A new age has begun; let us start afresh."

The counselors looked guilty once more and fell silent.

"Please excuse me and the lady," Thranduil continued, pulling Celairis by the waist and walking away with her. He smirked at the others. "The coronation will take place a week from now. Please prepare all the necessary things: invitations and reports from the palace management. And do not forget to invite our friends from Lórinand."

"And what of Erfaron and Lord Elrond from Rivendell? Should we invite them as well?"

Thranduil stopped and his hand from Celairis's hip immediately slipped away. No one dared to mention Erynlith, even by the term _Erfaron_, in his presence ever since their departure a few weeks ago. Raithon would tease him about it every once in a while; and somehow, it was annoying. Thranduil turned back to his counselor and said: "No, they are not to be invited. Let us focus on the objective at hand."

And in that following week, Thranduil was crowned the King of Greenwood the Great. King Amroth and Nimrodel arrived and were attended by several servants. The King's wine cellar was broken and barrels were rolled in the festive banquet halls; songs of merry-making sounded and the laughter were contagious. The newly-crowned Elvenking sat at the head of the table, thoughtfully sipping from his wine as he watched the maidens danced around in groups. His previously hostile counselors turned over a new leaf, having been influenced greatly by Celairis in the past week.

And thinking of his female counselor, blue eyes searched around the halls. Thranduil found her among her Silvan friends, a wine cup in hand. She laughed good-naturedly at a jest and then sipped from her cup. She was a beautiful sight to behold, and he wondered how he had never noticed her before. He knew Celairis as a dutiful counselor, a quiet and intelligent girl. She knew each corner of the palace and the library. Thranduil remembered sitting beside her one night during one of his father's feasts. She was a proper lady, a dark beauty as Raithon described her.

_Beauty_, Thranduil scoffed and drank his wine. _I am more interested in brains._

But then his mind wandered again to Rivendell. He thought about Erynlith, on what could she be doing at that very moment. It was almost midnight; he guessed that she was spending time with Erestor and the other elves he did not know the names. He knew he loved her, but was unable to say how he felt. Perhaps he could never tell her. And again he thought: beauty and brains. He had never described Erynlith as beautiful even once, even though she was fair like her mother before her. And was she clever? Thranduil regarded her as _sharp_. She was quick to answer honestly, but there were also times when she was too clueless for her own good. He missed her terribly—her quick remarks, endless glares, and most especially, her songs. Thranduil laughed quietly from his seat; one might mistook him for being crazy.

_Should I visit?_ He thought over and over again.

However, there was a voice within him that greatly discarded the idea.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** The Third Age begins.

**Author's Notes:** Aww, man. I just realized how lazy I was in the past few days. This chapter is really, really short. Geez. Let me apologize for being so lazy. But hey! We've got some... uh... Thranduil _things_ going on. Yeah! Counselor problem solved, many thanks to his fabulousness. Even his counselors cannot handle him!

***only-one-mirkwood-princess** \- Ooh, hello, Camy! Good to see you here~!

***llcyyxx** \- Those are wonderful names. I especially like the contrast between morning and twilight. I would try to incorporate them in the story. Thank you very much!

***Evangeline Pond** \- Shakespeare for the win!

***Asmodeus Black** \- "Is Erynlith going to return to greenwood soon?" Ooh, I do not want to spoil but— Don't make me spoil it! *hides in the corner*

***Rosiethehobbit17** \- I literally went "Aww" when I read your review. Look at all these elves complicating romance. At least Raithon has settled down, right? LOL. Thank you very much for reviewing!

***Treesaw** \- I do try my best to update every week, so here you go! I miss those moments, too. *cries*

***Anonymous** \- Celairis seriously needs to hide where you cannot find her! Ha! Thank you for reviewing!

***DeLacus** \- As minor characters as they are, I love writing Lindir and Gildor — especially Gildor, with his Noldorin sass. And the counselors get what they deserve; it's like Daddy Thrandy catches them red-handed and sends them back into their rooms. I now imagine him doing that to Legolas. *squeals*

**P.S.** From here on, brace yourselves to a _very_ long (and probably awkward) timeskip. I guess timeskips happen in most stories, for the sake of the plot. So, please, bear with me! Thank you for reading! Have a wonderful day~!


	33. The Third Age Begins

**Chapter 33**

_**The Third Age Begins**_

* * *

Things happened almost in a flash.

In the next hundred years, Elrond and Celebrían were wedded. Rivendell was once again bustling with all the visiting elves. Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel travelled there; Círdan and the rest of his household crossed the fields once more. There was much singing and dancing and laughing. The host of Lórinand arrived, not only to acknowledge the wedding, but also for the King Amroth to visit Erynlith. Nimrodel did not travel with them, being too negative about mingling with the others. When asked about the news in Greenwood, Amroth only shook his head in dismay.

"We haven't had dealings with them for the past hundred years," the King of Lórinand gravely said.

And it was true. Hundred years had come and passed, and Thranduil continued to isolate himself from the world. No more messages were sent from Greenwood to Lórinand; the bridge that once connected the two realms was unused and succumbed into the river. It was said that the northern fortress that was long planned was already built, and one by one, Thranduil and his people moved there, abandoning the southern fortress in which King Oropher once ruled. There was no news of the Elvenking taking any wife, being too busy with rebuilding and making his people prosper for the first hundred years of the Third Age.

Thranduil never sent any message to Rivendell either. It was like nothing happened, or if something did happen, he chose to forget it and moved on. Erynlith was disheartened, as she always hoped of returning to Greenwood sometime soon. Even if Elrond urged her to do so, she could not travel on her own, not when Thranduil had already settled in the northern part of the forest. Erynlith missed him terribly, his remarks and constant self-centered comments. She feared that his blindness had not yet subsided, making him more grim with each passing year. But Amroth had also announced that Thranduil regained his vision, and that the left cheek that was so terribly burned was gone. No signs of dragon fire were evident, and the Elvenking was once again fair of face.

Once, in a bright summer morning, Erynlith entered Erestor's bedchambers.

"Brother, may I visit Greenwood, tra-la?"

A slender eyebrow rose in inquiry, and the dark-haired captain gave her a quick look of disapproval. "The Silvan of Greenwood have retreated further into the North, Eryn. You cannot travel there unless you want another trouble in the High Pass. Also, there is no one to come with you. No, I do not allow it."

The conversation repeated itself every night. Erynlith would ask for permission, Erestor declining it and ignoring her, Celebrían trying to comfort her, and Lindir occupying her with music. She had asked Elrond for help, but the half-elf did not want to be the cause of an argument between Erynlith and Erestor.

When his patience dwindled, Erestor stomped towards Elrond's study and asked for counsel.

"It is love, dear captain, a harmless feeling."

Erestor scoffed. "More like a mental disturbance."

"But still harmless," Elrond gently admonished, but knew that his friend was not convinced.

* * *

Whereas Rivendell was filled with merry-making that midsummer night, Greenwood was peaceful and quiet. The Silvan folk were satisfied of the beauty of their northern fortress, its promise of safety was heightened for the palace was made underground. A solid gate would threaten off the enemies, and the tunnels that were beneath winded endlessly. It was easy for them to be lost. But it didn't matter. Sooner or later, they would get used to the new and more pleasant environment. The outpost of the Elven-guard was fortified a few meters away from the palace, above the tree like in the manner in Lórinand. From Amroth's influence, Raithon convinced the Elvenking to do the same.

And the Elvenking sat upon his throne, chin propped lazily under a slender hand. He sighed and crossed his leg over the other.

_Being a king is no fun_, Thranduil mentally noted. He had dismissed the soldiers from his throne; he wanted no one's company for the moment. It was delightful for him to see his people satisfied on his first century of reign, and all of them looked forward to more years of serving under him. It was heartwarming for the new Elvenking, but was he himself satisfied?

"My lord, is everything alright?" Celairis asked as she crossed the throne room and bowed to the King.

He slipped his chin from his hand and turned to his counselor. "When we are alone, Celairis, please refer to me only as Thranduil."

"I cannot do that," she politely declined. "You are the King, and I must—"

"Comply to the rules, yes." Thranduil sighed in defeat. His brow arched at her. "What brings you here?"

Celairis walked up to the dais. "You are aware that there is a great celebration in Rivendell, are you not? And King Amroth sent an invitation for you to go together. Why did you not answer, my lord? Do you still feel obliged to stay indoors?"

The King chuckled amusedly at his counselor, and then shook his head. "Celebration or not, Elrond knows that I am wishing him well with his new chapter in life. There is no one else that deserved him than Celebrían."

"Are you not looking forward to see Erfaron?" Celairis suggested.

Again, he shook his head. It had been a hundred years. For all he knew, she could have wedded someone already—someone Erestor supported. For all he knew, that grand celebration in Rivendell could be a celebration between two elven marriages, and that was why Amroth was so enthusiastic in going. And Thranduil would not want that. It would be his last wish to see Erynlith be wed to someone other than _him_. A sharp pang of pain crawled into his chest, and he forced himself to shake away the thoughts. If Erynlith was happy in Rivendell, then he would be happy for her as well, even if they were three thousand miles away.

He looked at the Silvan before him. She stood there in all her sheer beauty.

"Stay with me, will you, Celairis?" Thranduil asked and gesture for her to come closer.

She smiled and nodded; the boundary between Elvenking and counselor was diminished.

* * *

In the next decades that followed, Celebrían gave birth to their sons. And of course, another celebration. Elrond was more than happy to have been gifted two sons in one night; he believed the Valar really blessed Imladris and their family. By that time, Erestor had become the Chief Counselor to Elrond, and the position of the Captain was vacant. With no orcs wandering about, there was no need for captain at the moment.

Everyone turned their attention solely on the two newborn. Named Elladan and Elrohir, the two of them grew faster than one could have expected. Their features were akin to their father: dark hair and grey eyes. Although close to Elrond, the boys always turned to their mother for everything. And contrasting Elrond's calm demeanor, Elladan and Elrohir were mischievous and could run away with almost everything.

"Good morning, Erfaron!" the young elves chirped upon entering the banquet halls of breakfast.

Erynlith and Erestor already occupied their seats and were sharing idle talks when the boys arrived. Elladan and Elrohir were the youngest in Imladris, and everyone was obliged to look after them. Celebrían had told them the story of how Erynlith became to be called _Erfaron_ by the Silvan folk, and the boys were captivated by that story. They were convinced that her name was actually Erfaron and no one could tell them otherwise.

"Good morning, young ones," Erestor greeted pleasantly and assisted the two in their seats. It was queer to have two elves looking exactly the same and running around in the valley. People had always mistaken Elladan for Elrohir, and vice-versa. Even Gildor had given up on it.

"Erfaron, could you come with us at the gardens, tra-la?"

She guessed that it was Elrohir who chirped at her. The brothers had adapted her way of talking throughout the years. She reluctantly nodded. "Sure. What will you do there?"

The boys quickly leaned in and whispered to themselves. Erestor chuckled as the two nodded. "We want to see the bridge!" And another guess was made that it was Elladan who answered this time.

"And why do I have to come? The bridge is not that far, tra-la." Erynlith narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

Again, the two elflings whispered.

"Because we like Erfaron really much!" It must have been Elladan who answered again.

That was when she sighed in defeat as Elrond and Celebrían arrived to share breakfast with them. After a while, Erynlith and the two boys marched to the gardens; each child held Erynlith's hand as they walked. Indeed, they wanted to see the garden which also overlooked the bridge below. And they played nonstop—Elladan and Elrohir were too energetic for even Elrond to handle.

Another hundred years passed and Celebrían gave birth to a new child, a daughter whom Elrond exceedingly adored. She was called Arwen, and eventually, became Undómiel, the Evenstar. She was a beautiful and thoughtful girl, too quiet and conservative just as her father liked it. Whereas Elladan and Elrohir were close to their mother, Arwen turned always to her father, following him obediently. And she was more proper and polite than her adventurous brothers, always willing to stay behind and accompany Elrond. She was quick to learn the art of music and dancing, having been taught by Erynlith and Lindir when she was younger.

"I think Elrond wants to have another daughter," Celebrían confided to Erynlith one night after Arwen's recital at the Halls of Fire.

"Then give him one, tra-lo," Erynlith quickly answered, shrugging off the wine cup that was offered to her. She thought of having children was fun and exciting; she could see how Elrond and Celebrían enjoyed their time with their children. But for Erynlith, she had no time for that. She was satisfied to see and help raise the three young eflings into well-rounded and polite elves.

Celebrían laughed good-naturedly. "I would, normally, but I want to see them grow first. I am very satisfied with the three of them, but Elrond is restless. He thinks Arwen grows too quickly for his liking; he wants to spoil another daughter anytime soon."

"I never knew he could be that impatient, tra-lay," Erynlith added, and they both laughed.

"If I were to have another daughter." Celebrían sighed dreamily, her eyes looking up at the ceiling. "I want her to have my features, to look just like me. Arwen may be his daughter, but she looks exactly like Elrond. I want to have a daughter with silver hair, like my father and I. And perhaps I should name her already…"

"I'd be more concerned about more trivial matters," Erynlith interjected.

Celebrían looked at her friend questioningly. "Like what?"

"Like… how to get Elladan and Elrohir stop ransacking the kitchen."

With that, the two grown elves in question were running about the corridors, the cook's face flushed in frustration. Elladan was biting on a bread while holding onto a bag of fruit cakes, and behind him, Elrohir was carrying two bottles of wine. Everyone was dumbfounded as the brothers passed through the room. Suddenly, the two returned to peek at the doorway. Both mischievously winked at their parents and sister, and then said: "Good going, Arwen! Excellent performance! Love you!" and they sprinted off again.

Arwen laughed quietly as her father angrily stood up and shouted:

"ELLADAN! ELROHIR!"

* * *

On his way to the palace gardens, the Elvenking was blocked by his many counselors. All seemed enthusiastic about something, and the King had to stop from his tracks and listen to them. His robe was heavy and hot, and he wanted to discard it as soon as the flocking counselors around him left him for good. It was spring in the Greenwood and he regarded it as more beautiful than Amroth's Lórinand. The counselors were chirping something about creating a river gate which would serve as the boundary of the Elvenking's realms. The appearance of Men in the north threatened the Silvan folk, thinking that they would take the forest for themselves, like what they did to the river.

"A river gate, you say?" Thranduil mused, already walking in a fast pace. His counselors followed after him eagerly.

"Yes, my lord. You see, the thing is, it would be troublesome if some of our people wander too far from our borders. Captain Raithon and his guards would not be able to keep an eye on them. A gate may also warn the other men that the forest belongs to you."

Thranduil nodded quickly. "Alright, alright. Get that thing right away." He shooed the counselors away and sighed in relief when he was finally left alone. He knew exactly where he was going, and that place was one that he loved the most.

The gardens were situated behind the palace, a small and round area, fenced by stone walls. Flowers of different colors grew there. But it was not the flowers he was after— it was the lady who watered them. Her dress touched the floor, yet Thranduil could see that she was barefooted. Her back was turned to him, that thick dark mane that always smelled of flowers. On her hands was a blue watering can, something that one of the Silvan attendants had given her. Thranduil had no intention on sneaking up on her; his robes were too heavy and hot that he slipped them off his shoulders and dropped it in a loud heap on the grassy floor.

Celairis jumped up from the sudden noise and turned behind her.

The Elvenking met her eyes and smiled. "You did not like the light shoes I gave you?"

She shook her head and returned to watering her beloved _luinell_. Spring was her favorite season. "I was wandering too much in the place that the shoes were already worn out, my King."

"Oh, what a shame," Thranduil crooned, sitting on a wooden bench beside where she stood. He looked up at her with the same mischievous blue eyes. "Shall I stop giving you gifts? You always wear them out anyways…"

Now, she laughed whole-heartedly. There was a familiar tug at his heart whenever he heard her laugh. "If you would only stop giving me gifts, which would be better."

"Everyone would kill to have the great Elvenking give someone a gift," Thranduil said confidently, enjoying the view that he had of her. "I don't understand why you kept declining them…"

"Because I do not need them," Celairis answered. She was almost finished watering the patch of bluebells that were there in the small garden. The King yawned lazily and propped his chin under his palm, continuing to watch his favorite counselor do what she called "hobby".

He suppressed a yawn this time. "You love your _luinell_, don't you?"

She nodded. "Yes, Erfaron loved them too, didn't she?"

Suddenly, Thranduil's face turned grim and he sighed deeply, his face turning away from her. She stopped watering the plants, instantly concerned of what she said. As counselor, she should always be careful about things that fell from her mouth. Thranduil made it clear that he had no intention of remembering that part. It had been too long for that matter, and too late for something to blossom between them. He had moved on, and Celairis knew that.

"Thranduil, I did not mean—"

"Doesn't matter," the Elvenking nonchalantly said, standing up and picking his heavy robe. His sudden change of mood worried her. Before he could fully leave the gardens, he turned to her and added: "I'll see you later at dinner."

She nodded obligingly. Perhaps it was too soon for them to mention that name in Greenwood.

* * *

Another well nigh thousand years passed since then. It was no trouble for the lives of Elves; they could live forever, a gift bestowed by the One in the very beginning. Rivendell was peaceful with all the elves that lived there; however, the Men of the south fought for their lives. Easterlings began to ransack their fields and homelands. The Kings of Gondor continued to rule and defend their kingdom after the downfall of Isildur and the taking of the One Ring. The Elves did not bother themselves to deal with those problems, especially when Elrond had finally settled with his family.

Arwen grew more beautifully each day, and she had more suitors than Erynlith ever had. All those suitors were scared off by Elrond, and more importantly, by Elladan and Elrohir. Whoever would so much talked to Arwen would face the consequences from the brothers. It was most amusing for the past years; Arwen was very much adored by her father and brothers. And Celebrían was satisfied; the arrival of the next daughter should wait for another hundred years.

However, Erynlith was restless. She was not at all satisfied in Rivendell, being faced with the same routine each day. She was only kept busy when Lindir and the other minstrels offered her to join their nightly songs in the Halls of Fire. Sometimes Gildor suggested that they continue with their travels; he found someplace north of Rivendell that was quite enjoyable. With Erestor's counsel, Erynlith began to travel once more with Gildor and his company, learning more each day. Once back in Rivendell, Elladan and Elrohir would urge her to go riding with them or simply spend the rest of the afternoon holding an archery challenge. There were times the brothers would lose to her, but there were also times that she lost, and had to face a dare the brothers had in mind. She enjoyed their company more than she did with Arwen, but there was mutual respect between the two ladies, and Arwen sometimes turned up to her for counsel.

"The Havens?" Erynlith echoed what Elrond had just said. There were in the middle of having their dinner when Elrond opened up the discussion.

"Yes, the Havens," Elrond confirmed. "I have received word from the Valar. Someone will arrive in the Havens soon, and I am planning on sending you and Gildor to welcome them, along with Lord Círdan."

She raised an eyebrow. "I thought people leave from the Havens, not _arrive_ in it, tra-la."

Elladan and Elrohir snickered at her sarcastic comment.

The Lord of Rivendell turned and glared at his sons, and the two quickly composed themselves. "Well, yes," Elrond answered. "There should be someone to welcome them in behalf of Rivendell. Since you and Gildor are Rivendell's most adept travellers, then I am wishing for the two of you to go in my stead."

"That sounds fun," Gildor remarked, lifting his fork and waving it a little. "What do you think, Eryn?"

She shook her head and dismissed herself from dinner. She felt no excitement on meeting new people at all. Perhaps Elrond should find someone else; Elladan and Elrohir were strong enough to travel great distances. They were younger and faster riders; they could outrun orcs in a matter of seconds. Yes, she would convince Elrond to send them instead.

"It cannot be done," Elrond said as if reading her mind. They were standing in a porch, and Erynlith was leaning against a pillar, not exactly looking amused of his announcement. "Listen, you told me yourself, that you are losing your edge."

And it was true. A thousand years of being passive made her lose her edge. Her hands were unsteady when handling bows and arrows; she got exhausted more easily when riding out with Elladan and Elrohir. The one good thing she could do now was to sing and play the harp, something that enlightened Lindir as a fellow minstrel. She longed for adventures, craved for it even. She wanted to hunt around for wargs just like the good old days, when she stayed in Greenwood.

Erynlith sighed in defeat. "Fine, whatever you say, tra-la. But why should it be me? Meeting other people is _your_ job, not mine."

"You'll see," Elrond simpered with a devious smile. "You will find this enjoyable when you meet him."

* * *

**Next Chapter:** Lindon expects a wide-arrayed colour of visitors: from white to grey, blue to brown, and what else?

**Author's Notes:** Phew! Did that go well? Again, I apologize for the terse narration about what happened in the first centuries of the Third Age. If I elaborated, it would probably take another thirty chapters or so. Anyways! Hoped you enjoyed this chapter! And Thranduil! What are you doing?! (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻

***only-one-mirkwood-princess** \- Eryn and Thrandy, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G... Or not. *sobs*

***Rosiethehobbit17** \- Seems the King is rather lazy to get off his new throne. He needs to have a hobby! And sorry if the previous chapter was short. LOL.

***Asmodeus Black** \- Nooo, I do not like spoilers, especially when reading books. Haha! Yeah, I do hope Thrandy and Eryn already go down to business!


	34. Mae Govannen

**Chapter 34**

_**Mae Govannen**_

* * *

When the time had come, Gildor and Erynlith were prepared to set off from the valley. Little caravan was provided by Elrond, but there were also weapons in case of emergency. Gildor was never the fighter among the other elves, and so he turned to Erynltih for the defense. Elladan and Elrohir tried convincing their father to allow them to come, but the elf lord had already set his mind. Erestor had nothing to say; trusting Elrond completely, but there was also worry evident in his fair face. He watched as horses were mustered and the traveling elves mount their steeds. Quietly, he handed Erynlith her usual grey cloak.

"Stay out of trouble. Say hi to Lord Círdan for me." He then kissed her forehead.

She smiled. "I am no longer a child, brother. I'll be back before you know it." The grey cloak was draped around her shoulders and she led the caravan outside the valley.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Erestor whispered aside to Elrond as the caravan faded into the foggy morning. "I mean, who is waiting for Erynlith at the Havens?"

Elrond chuckled. "Why worry? You'll see once they return here."

"Wait, what?" Erestor blanched. "Are you saying that, whoever this person is, will have to travel back here in Imladris?"

"You have proven yourself to be quite the sharp counselor, dear Erestor." Elrond pulled Celebrían by the waist and followed their children inside the house. Whatever it was, or whoever Elrond was talking about, the counselor had doubts about it.

* * *

"So… what is so exciting about these new people?" Erynlith asked Gildor out of boredom. They knew nothing about the newcomers, but their lord seemed enthusiastic about it. What made the situation more suspicious was the fact that people from the West were arriving in the Havens. She could only guess that these people were special. Perhaps they were sent to help them with the ongoing troubles in the lands.

The Ñoldo shook his head. "I am not very sure, but they sound interesting enough. I am looking forward on meeting them."

"What if Elrond just wants to get rid of us?"

He laughed. "Maybe… Who knows?"

The conversation continued until they passed the borders of the small folk, one that people call the Shire, and then moved ever towards the west. Songs were sung to keep them out of boredom; Gildor, though not being a minstrel himself, led the constant singing as they passed by the woods. Songs honoring a certain star queen who was said to live a very long time ago. She had heard Lindir singing the same songs, but the tongue in which they sang it was unfamiliar to her. Thus, she did not sing, only listen to the fair voices of her companions.

At last, the Blue Mountains loomed before them, and Erynlith gaped in awe. The last time she had been there was only a fragment of her memory: when the High King still lived and invited her over to his kingdom. The mountains were higher than she remembered, but the waves of the Sea could already be heard.

Gildor clicked on the sides of his steed, mustering it forward, and the rest of the caravan followed. Erynlith huddled under her grey cloak, pulling the hood over her head. She knew dwarves lived somewhere in these mountains, creatures that she did not wish to meet at all. Erestor had told her stories of old, even singing out some lays that he knew, about the endless hatred between the Elves and Dwarves. She had little interest in that matter; dwarves were of no concern to her.

Before she even realized, they had passed the mountains with little to no difficulty. The white gates of Lindon shone before them, laden with white pearls and gems. Elves began to appear and Gildor was the first one to dismount his horse. He spoke queerly to the elves, much like how Erestor spoke to the others. Soon, the elves from Lindon and Rivendell mingled delightfully, years of being sundered were ignored. And Erynlith stood there, feeling rather out of place. Quenya was not her tongue to speak, but Erestor tried to educate her when he had time. When the elves continued to move on, she was pulled by Gildor on the wrist, prompting her to follow him. Círdan's fortress was as beautiful as she remembered, but now higher. Lamps were hung about the pillars, and the grey sails of the ships loomed on the port.

"Welcome back," Círdan said cordially, admitting Gildor in a welcoming embrace, and then Erynlith. "I see Elrond has chosen to send the two of you instead." He laughed quietly. "Please, follow me inside. A little dinner has been prepared for your arrival. Fret not; tomorrow, the real feast will take place."

The bearded elf led them through his marbled white halls. Paintings were hung on the walls, depicting stories and songs behind them. But the elves of Lindon were mostly singers, making Erynlith want to stay with them even more. The dinner that was prepared for the travelling caravan was modest, with enough cakes and wines for everyone. Erynlith pushed her plate away when vegetables were served, and she focused on treating herself with the elvish cakes instead.

"Who are we waiting for?" She asked Círdan as she took a mouthful of her cake. It tasted queerly, but delicious nonetheless.

"Do not worry. They will arrive tomorrow during the sunset," Círdan answered. "Bedchambers are prepared for everyone. After dinner, we can stay in the halls for the sharing of stories. If you insist, you can head straight to yours, Erynlith. Lord Gildor and I have some things to talk about. Apparently, Elrond does not send messages over here anymore. I heard from Lord Celeborn that he was busy with his family."

Erynlith groaned inwardly. The two elves began to talk about things that were and would be. At length, she pushed herself off the dinner table, and a kindly elf offered to escort her to the bedchambers that were prepared. It was not hard to find at all. After she thanked the elf, she discarded her grey cloak and approached the porch of the room. It overlooked the Sea up ahead; the silver moon looming above was a sight to behold. She sighed in contentment; perhaps she was too bored in Rivendell that she had forgotten about the sheer beauty of Lindon.

"I could stay here for a few years…" She mumbled to herself. "Then again, I cannot leave Erestor for that long. He would be very lonely."

She sighed audibly and flopped on the wide bed that was provided. Her mind wondered again about the newcomers that would arrive tomorrow. What would they look like? Were they elves? Men? Creatures that she had not heard of? Slowly, she found the matter interesting enough. She closed her eyes. In her reverie, she caught glimpse of something golden, a flower maybe.

* * *

Sunset was upon them at last. Círdan, Gildor, and Erynlith were standing by on the edge of the ports; countless ships were docked not far away from them. The waves were louder and the gulls went to and fro, calling out to their flying companions. Círdan told them only few elves were able to see that part of the port: only those who chose to leave were allowed so. At the sight of the sea and the golden sun setting in the horizon, Erynlith felt something stir within her. The yearning feeling to see the White Shores was great. The sight before her captivated her too much, and Gildor had to tap her shoulder to snap her back to reality.

It was not yet time, Gildor reminded her. There were more things that she had to finish, things she had to settle before sailing West. And when she would, Erestor would come with her, and maybe Lindir and Gildor himself.

As they held each other's gaze, Círdan stepped forward; his dark eyes were darted on the horizon. Erynlith and Gildor went beside him, anticipating something that would appear. And there it was: a ship soaring in a fair distance; the creaking of its oars was heard, and the white banner that was held aloft the main mast swayed with the speed. The ship was approaching at a fast pace. Erynlith could see people walking in the ship's deck, clearly excited of setting foot in Middle-earth. Soon, the grey ship docked and the anchor was weighed down. The three elves were waiting. Next, the platform was lowered. Three figures marched out first.

One was robed in all white; his beard and hair were white also. He was scanning the area as if it was an entirely different place for him. At the sight of the elves, he stepped down and greeted Círdan in a cordial manner. The second that went down was a rather eccentric-looking fellow: his staff was carved to show a beast, and his brown beard cascaded to his belly. Like the first one, he looked warily at his surroundings before proceeding to greet Círdan. They spoke eagerly to one another, in that High Speech that only Gildor and Círdan could understand. Erynlith could not tell if they were elves; they looked too strange to be one of them. But she was also certain that these people were not of the Men. They looked old and almost judgemental; the dark eyes of the first newcomer pierced her like a cold dagger. She clamped her mouth shut and waited for the next that would follow.

There were three that arrived at the same time; the two were robed in all blue while the other was in grey. Erynlith felt a mutual connection with the last one, being cloaked in grey herself. As she met his eyes, the old man smiled and nodded at her. He was the first one to greet her among the newcomers.

"Ah, Olórin." Círdan sighed in relief, embracing the grey one. "I have not heard of you since the days of old. I am very relieved that you are one of them."

Olórin laughed thoughtfully. "Lindon is different from what I have heard. 'Tis more beautiful than the songs that were sung in the West. I would rather stay here for a while before continuing in our task."

"You can stay for as long as you want," Círdan offered. His face grew grim. Then, he leaned over to the grey one and whispered: "I have something for you that shall be discussed later. Keep it hidden; keep it safe."

Olórin nodded in understanding as he and his other blue companions mingled with Gildor. He gave one more glance to Erynlith, and he could tell that the elf was rather more interested in him than the others. As he turned, he addressed the white one as Curumo and the other Aiwendil. The one called Curumo huffed and turned his attention back to Gildor and Círdan; he had much to hear about the tidings in Middle-earth.

When everyone prepared to leave, Erynlith attempted to follow them, had she not heard light footsteps behind her.

Someone was still arriving.

Turning again to the ship, the last person standing was illuminated by the setting sun; his richly golden hair flowing and his face was obscured. Yet as he walked graciously down the platform, his sapphire eyes probed around the new environment that was there. He looked young and fair, tall and well-built. When his feet touched the ground, he flinched. To Erynlith, he looked like a curious and cautious elfling. But the golden one did not pay attention to her. He approached his companions and was greeted eagerly by Círdan.

"Laurëfindil!" Círdan said as he approached the tall golden elf, tapping the elf's shoulder enthusiastically. "Welcome to Middle-earth."

The golden elf smiled politely and said in a weird accent: _"Mae govannen."_

One could tell that Sindarin was not his native language. At the sight of the newcomer, Gildor quickly greeted his kin, though not by blood. They seemed to acknowledge each other in a friendly way, and Erynlith felt out of place once again. Everyone turned to leave and Círdan ushered them in his grand banquet halls.

Like what he had promised the day before, the feast that night was more festive and energetic. More food and drinks were served; the minstrels singing and playing their flutes and harps. The five odd-looking newcomers conversed with Gildor and all the other elves, leaving Erynlith to sit in one corner. Gildor had thrust a wine cup in her hands, although knowing that she did not drink liquor. Moreover, the dinner served vegetables again.

_I would rather starve myself to death._

She sat on the staircase outside the fortress, the wine cup still in her hands. She listened to the mixture of songs that were heard behind her and the waves that was before her. Occasionally, she would sniff at her drink and would end up cringing at the bittersweet scent that it offered. At length, she set the cup beside her and sighed. _So far, so good_, she thought, looking up at the stars. The Elves loved the stars more than the moon and the sun.

Inside the festive halls, the golden elf kept to himself. He watched as his companions walked abroad to talk to the others. Cautiously, he felt for the sword that was strapped loosely about his waist. He tried to be positive about everything: about the reason why he returned and the reason why he was sent back for a task. He found no joy in being reborn, if that was the right term for it. For one thing, he enjoyed his place in the White Shores, in the Halls of Mandos, where no one could ever hurt him again. But no, he returned for a purpose. And he would find out what it was.

"Come, Laurëfindil, join us!" Gildor offered his hand to the golden elf.

He shook his head, once again smiling politely, and watched as the other Ñoldo crossed the floor to invite someone else. He sipped casually from his drink, finding the taste queer yet sweet. He leaned against the white wall. He wore a simply blue tunic trimmed with gold, and his trousers and boots were dark. He laughed quietly when Gildor was declined by one of the elf maidens; his friend was too energetic for that particular night.

His blue eyes continued to observe. He should get used to this kind of environment before anything else. He would make friends, respect and honor them like he did long before. Yes, he would do that. When his eyes darted outside, he could see the lone elf sitting on the staircase. He inclined his head to the side, wondering who it was. Sparing another sip from his drink, Laurëfindil approached her. He stopped a few steps behind, suddenly doubting himself for walking towards her.

"_I see a star wondering—what is it doing?_

_Twinkling all the night _

_Star light... Star bright, _

_The most beautiful star in the sky._

_Tra-la-la-lay."_

Laurëfindil's doubts were shunned when he heard her sing. The song was simple, almost childish to him, but it was a product of an innocent mind. But his shadow betrayed him, and the lady turned to look at him. He flinched and bit his lip, unable to say something.

"Would you like to sit with me?" Erynlith smiled and patted the space next to her.

He nodded and sat beside her, feeling all the more awkward in her presence. From the corner of his eyes, he examined her. He thought the grey cloak that she wore was too big for her built. Then, he remembered. She was the same elf that he saw upon his arrival: the very first person his eyes saw in that place.

"Welcome to Middle-earth." She gave him another pleasant smile.

Laurëfindil smiled back. Though he was no adept speaker of the common language, he learned enough from Olórin during their days at the sea. He decided not to speak his native tongue since he was also informed that only few elves spoke them in Middle-earth anymore. When he felt confident enough, he placed his cup beside him and started to introduce himself.

"I am Glorfindel." His voice was reluctant at first. It felt different to introduce yourself differently. But Laurëfindil and Glorfindel meant the same: golden-haired. _"Mae govannen,"_ he added politely.

"Erynlith," she answered, shaking on his hand. The golden elf looked surprised at her. "I come from Rivendell. And you?"

"From the West," Glorfindel answered, shaking their hands all the more.

When he released her hand, the confidence built up inside him once more. He yearned to be able to talk to others, to people who would not judge him and his past actions. Erynlith could be the first. She knew nothing about him; therefore, she would not judge. He could start as a new person all over again.

"I heard many stories about Rivendell. I am set to travel there myself, to serve Lord Elrond."

Realization dawned to her. Glorfindel was the reason why Elrond was so intent on sending her. But she did not understand her role in this. There was no particular reason why Elrond should send her. Elladan and Elrohir would have done well to greet Glorfindel upon his return. Nonetheless, she welcomed her new-found friend.

"It is spring, and Rivendell is more beautiful during the spring. If we travel now, you will get to see the _eltiria_ bloom, tra-la-la. Flowers are always beautiful in the spring, tra-lo."

"I am excited," Glorfindel admitted, her humming voice echoing in his mind. His female companion kept on singing absentmindedly, mostly about flowers and trees and rivers, each trailed off with a 'tra-la-la'. Then, he remembered Erynlith pushing her vegetable-filled plate. He chuckled and said, "You do not like vegetables, do you?"

She abruptly stopped from singing. She shrugged. "Vegetables, tra-lay… Ah, you put them on the table and it makes everything look pretty. After dinner you throw it out with the trash." Her answer was honest, and the golden elf beside her laughed.

And the conversation continued on. Two elves who did not enjoy the night's festivities found entertainment in each other's company. Elrond had his plan all along.

It was the start of something new.

* * *

_*I See a Star Tonight_ – Maria Luisa Taylor

**Next Chapter:** There are always demons of the past.

**Author's Notes:** Geez. After a long time, we finally get to have Glorfindel in the story! Our favourite golden elf, or is it just me? What did you guys think of Laurëfindil showing up? Me? I was fangirling the whole time while I write and reread this chapter. I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I did! Thank you for reading!

***llcyyxx** \- Eryn might actually do that, y'know. But with Glorfindel in tow? How would our dear Elvenking take that? Hmmm..

***Queen Amaryllis Kay** \- She's an eccentric elf and loves to sing, always responding in singsongs; thus, the 'tra-la' at the end of her sentences. And thank you for the review!

***Rosiethehobbit17** \- Thrandy really does need a knock on the head. I'll ask someone to do that for us ~

***only-one-mirkwood-princess** \- I think we should start an anti-Celairis organization. What should we call it? XD

***SparklesJustReads** \- Yep, immortality is such a difficult thing to understand. I always wondered what Elves do throughout a thousand years. Oh, and thanks for stopping by!

***Asmodeus Black** \- Let the suspense haunt you every night! *evil laughter* Would you like to join the anti-Celairis group, too?

***DeLacus** \- Aww, thank you. I was a little reluctant on doing that time skip, but oh well. At least we get to have Glorfindel, right? *continues fangirling*

***Guest** \- Is this you, only-one-mirkwood-princess? You and the guest have the same review. No matter! You could always join our anti-Celairis group!

All in all, thank you everyone for the overwhelming reviews! I was out working and when I got back, I was surprised! So, this is where things get complicated. Thrandy and Celairis, Erynlith and Glorfindel. We shall see how things work out on both sides, but the upcoming chapters would most likely focus more in Glorfindel and Eryn.

Again, thank you for the kind reviews! Have a wonderful day! ~


	35. Demons

**Chapter 35**

_**Demons**_

* * *

"Um, Lady Erynlith… What are you doing?"

The golden-haired elf could not think of the words to describe his friend's position.

Erynlith was standing atop a stool, her hand grasping something above the cupboards in the kitchen. Luckily, no one else was around, not even the cooks, to see her in such a compromising state. She looked determined to get whatever it was that she was trying to reach. But she could still not get hold of it. She tiptoed now, hopefully getting herself taller, and the stool trembled underneath her.

Glorfindel's eyes widened as his hands reached out for her, ready to catch if ever she fell. Erynlith was grunting and panting already; her outstretched arm felt limp with each passing second.

"You have to get off there or you'll hurt yourself," he warned. He tried peeking to see what she was reaching out for, but even with his keen eyesight, he could not tell.

"Aha!" Erynlith exclaimed triumphantly as she held a jar in her hands.

However, the stool beneath her trembled again and it was too late for Glorfindel to stop it. She slipped from the shaking stool and Glorfindel reached out for her, only to end up beneath her. His body cushioned the fall and Erynlith lay on top of him, her chest pressing so scandalously on his face. Glorfindel could feel the heat rushing to his face; but his friend was more concerned about the jar that she held in her hands. She looked proud that the glass did not shatter, and then proceeded to roll off of him.

Glorfindel soothed the back of his head, groaning lightly. "What was that all about?"

Before he knew it, a cookie was thrust into his mouth and he chewed on it reluctantly.

"Cookies, tra-la-lay," Erynlith sang and winked at him.

As they dusted themselves off, they realized that the fallen stool had knocked off some pots that contained food. The delicacies were already scattered on the floor in an utterly wicked state, and Glorfindel blanched at the sight. What would he tell Lord Círdan about the incident? As a gentleman, he would never put the blame to Erynlith.

Suddenly, he felt a strong grip in his hand and he was immediately pulled outside the kitchen, with Erynlith suppressing a laugh. Glorfindel gaped at her. This was an unbelievable act! She was unbelievable! Only children would act that way towards a crime. But he allowed himself to be dragged across the white corridors of Círdan's fortress, the rays of the sun warming their skin.

He felt younger again. No one in his thousands of years had ever dared such an act. Even the children of his time were not as mischievous as the minstrel that he accompanied. But would he care anymore? Their heinous pair had already turned left here and right there, escaping the eyes of all the other elves who went outside to bask in the sunlight.

Glorfindel watched amusedly as Erynlith dipped her hand inside the glass jar, drawing another cookie to her lips.

Sensing the piercing eyes on her, she held out the jar to him. "Here," she offered, but he shook his head politely. She rolled her eyes and forced another cookie in his mouth. "Come on, eat, tra-lay. The elves here bake the best snacks in Arda, tra-la. Don't just stare at me. _Eat_, Glorfindel!"

He swiftly obliged as he followed her tracks. He hummed as he tasted the sweet chocolate that was there and longed to have another. Without words, he dipped his hand into the jar and took another treat. No one was around to see them share the little jar of cookies which Erynlith had downright stolen from the kitchen. In a few moments, the jar was emptied and discarded by Glorfindel. They continued their way towards the port where the waves of the sea called out to both of them.

"It has been a month now, hasn't it?" Erynlith looked behind her to meet his sapphire eyes.

Glorfindel nodded and ran to catch up to her pace. "Well, yes. And I am enjoying every single second of it." They both laughed.

They trekked the sandy beaches of Lindon's boundaries. Erynlith had removed her light shoes to have the seawater soak her feet, while Glorfindel was contented to have the water lap at his dark boots. The sea was a comforting sight to both of them, and with a month that had gone by, they found it hard to part with it. But Gildor was restless again. He opened up the idea of finally returning to Rivendell. It was also worth noting that four of the five Istari had already left on their separate ways; only Olórin was left with Círdan.

When Erynlith turned to him, she frowned and let her fingers softly brush the dark circles under his eyes. Glorfindel had not been sleeping, she could tell. Perhaps he had not even blinked an eye, ever since his return. "What happened here?"

Glorfindel flinched at her sudden touch. "I find no comfort in sleeping at night. I prefer to guard the gates instead."

"You should sleep, really," Erynlith countered, walking faster now. The edges of her white skirt were already drenched with the water, and she purposely buried her feet beneath the warm sands. She looked back to her friend with a teasing smile. "The maidens will not find you handsome anymore if the dark circles do not fade any sooner, tra-la-la."

"Please, do not get me started on that," Glorfindel said.

Despite being quite a novice in Middle-earth and that there were many things that astounded him, the elves of Lindon, particularly the female minstrels, found him appealing. Maidens would whisper behind their hands and giggle in his presence, something that he felt uncomfortable with; but he always had a pleasant smile ready for them, allowing more attraction to spark in their wake.

She laughed. "Why not, dear friend? You had quite an audience yesterday when Gildor challenged you in a horse race. The maidens were cheering for you, did you not hear?"

"Oh, I did," he replied sheepishly. "I also remember you cheering for me rather than Gildor. Now, why would that be? You know him longer than I am."

"You are better rider though," she answered honestly.

He smiled, purposely ignoring the seawater that drenched the nether parts of his trousers now. "I am starting to guess some kind of favoritism here…"

"Oh, really!"

Erynlith knelt and splashed water on him. She stalked away as Glorfindel ran after her, his heavy boots weighing him down, but he cared not. He cupped his hands together and showered her with the seawater; their laughter mingled with the loud waves. Her skirt was soaked now, even parts of her umber hair, as she tried to counter him with all the water she could force upon him. And Glorfindel laughed again.

When he reached her, he pushed her into the water but her hand grasped his tunic, pulling him down with her. Friendly curses were shouted at each other; Erynlith dipped his golden head before making a run for it.

* * *

Gildor glared at the two dripping elves in front of him.

Glorfindel averted his eyes from the accusing look he was given whilst his other half was smiling rather innocently. Her dress clung tight on her like a second skin, giving accent to her slender figure, but she did not seem to mind. Lord Círdan was standing behind Gildor, his blue eyes twinkling in amusement as he stifled a laugh when Gildor huffed in anger.

"Pray tell me why the two of you, so early in the morning, broke into the kitchen, stole a cookie jar, managed to spill good food, and then end up in the halls drenched to the bones!" Gildor sounded like Elrond reprimanding his sons when they did some mischief in the valley. He placed his hands on his hips, eyes piercing both of them. When none of the two answered him, he huffed again and gestured to Círdan. "What have you to say for yourself? Lord Círdan will not find this amusing and—"

"Alright, we get it, Gildor!" Erynlith sighed in exasperation. She began to push Glorfindel's back and led him elsewhere. "We'll change right away… Oh, and Lord Círdan, sorry about the kitchen, tra-la-lay…"

Glorfindel allowed himself to be pushed along the corridors, sparing a confused look at both Círdan and Gildor. The lady behind him continued pushing until they reached the upper halls. Their bedchambers were not so far away from each other, and they usually leave their rooms at the same time in the morning. When they stopped in front of his doors, Erynlith winked and ran off to her room.

"Get some rest, 'kay? I'll see you later, tra-lo?" She called out and disappeared in her room.

He shook his head and chuckled. His mind was set on changing clothes, not resting.

Back in the halls, Gildor almost gaped at Círdan when he allowed the two elves roam free after the incident. The cooks were horrified at the sight of the spilled food for luncheon and worse, their jar of cookies was not there. If Elrond should find out about this nonsense, Gildor would be ashamed. He and Erynlith were supposed to go there in behalf of Elrond; now, what did the other do with the kitchen? He sighed in defeat and looked at Círdan with the same accusing look.

"I cannot believe you did that," he breathed. He mentally noted to tell Erestor what happened here, and make the Chief Counselor reprimand his sister of her manners.

Círdan smiled. "Oh, but they are only having fun. Lord Glorfindel seems to like her company very much. They have become quite good friends this past month."

"She is influential," Gildor said dismissively. "I wouldn't be surprised if she had Glorfindel singing the way she does."

The very thought of it made Lord Círdan laugh.

* * *

_Fire emanated from the deepest of his memories: memories he fought hard to forget, to bury as he opened his eyes for the first time in a thousand years. He woke up in a body that was fixed, the face he so painfully remembered; absentmindedly, his hands raked though his golden tresses, and he flinched at that feeling. Fear raced in his veins, the fire growing wilder and fiercer as he remembered who he was. _

_Laurëfindil of Gondolin, mighty among the mightiest of warriors, Captain of the Wise King. _

_Darkness enveloped him, and slowly, fire reached his feet, engulfing his body as he fought the demon that had so boldly appeared in front of him. The echoing roars of the demon shook him, and his screams faded into the night._

Glorfindel sat up from his bed, shaking and panting. Sweat trickled from his forehead, hands clutched tightly on the white sheets. His eyes sharply looked around for the fire; at a moment's notice he was confused, forgetting himself. Finding neither fire nor demon, he leaned back on the headboard, trying to compose his unsteady breathing.

It was the reason why he did not rest; the very reason why he refused to blink even an eye despite the growing weariness. It had been a month, he knew, but he cared less.

The moment his eyes closed, the fire ignited again. Glorfindel jumped from his bed, eyes blurring from his daze, and his hands slipped onto the table, breaking a nearby vase in the process.

_Get it together_, he reminded himself desperately.

Having had enough of the chaos that happened in the morning, Glorfindel felt obliged to pick up the shards of the broken vase. Lord Círdan would be disappointed if he found out. Hands shook as he reached out for the broken glass, and as he picked one, it slipped and gashed his palm. He groaned from the pain and quickly tore a strip from his white sheets, wrapping it around his bleeding hand. Once the vase was discarded, he looked out of the window. It was already night and he could not believe that he slept for far too long.

_No wonder my nightmares returned._

Glorfindel fixed himself poorly and headed out of his elegant bedchambers, resolved in finding comfort. He arrived in the halls and saw no one there. His eyebrow arched in confusion, eyes probing around in search for the other elves. He let out a tired sigh and left the fortress, taking the track he and Erynlith used that morning. He held his bleeding hand close to his chest, with him still wincing inwardly at the pain. The calls of the waves soothed him temporarily. He did not dare to close his eyes anymore. If there was one thing he was determined, that was to get himself free of the demons.

"Ah, there you are!" Someone chirped behind him. He turned and smiled weakly when Erynlith ran towards him. "Where have you been? You missed dinner, tra-la! And Gildor was asking for you, tra-lo… oh, I rhymed!"

"I was… distracted," he said, avoiding her laughing grey eyes. "What did Gildor want?"

Her expression lightened more. "He wants to return to Rivendell anytime soon, tra-lay. Says he is quite restless and Elrond probably is, too. Are you ready to leave for Rivendell?"

He nodded. "Ready as always."

"That's great!" She continued beaming. "When we get back, I'll introduce you to Erestor, tra-la-la…"

"It sounds magnificent."

Suddenly, the enthusiastic minstrel stopped her singing. Her eyes fell on the bandaged hand, clutched closely to the warrior's chest. A head shorter than him, it always made Erynlith look up to him, just like now, as she gave him a worried look. "What happened? Are you alright?"

"Oh, yes, I am." Glorfindel was quick on his denial. He waved the slightly aching hand for her to see. "I broke a vase in my chambers. Too reckless, wouldn't you agree?"

"You have to be more careful," she insisted. "Also, Olórin plans to stay here rather than travel with us. In the end, it'll be me, you, Gildor, and the others. Let's hope you can last a month of traveling."

"I have traveled long distances than you. Believe me on that." He laughed quietly.

"One more thing," Erynlith chirped, smiling deviously at him. "Since we missed you at dinner, some of your constant admirers were disappointed. Did you get a good rest like I told you?"

"Not really." He sighed.

"Why not?"

"Doesn't matter." He smiled reassuringly at her. He quickened his pace, letting her catch up to him this time. The worried look on his friend's face still did not leave. "So! Tell me more about Rivendell and Lord Elrond… Spring is passing, though. I will not see the valley with all the blooming flowers like you told me."

"Summer in Rivendell is also good, tra-lay. And when we get home, you'll hear Lindir singing to his heart's content, tra-la…" Her voice faded into the end, and thinking of the younger minstrel made her want to sing in the Halls of Fire again.

Glorfindel smiled. "May I also hear you singing to your heart's content, then?"

"Oh, I will sing for the rest of my life."

And with that, she began singing again, songs that sounded strange to the golden elf. But he did not mind; he graciously listened to her as they walked once again along the sandy beaches.

The demons had left him; they were not crawling their way back into his mind. Glorfindel knew they would return soon. Thus, he would keep himself close to that one who gave him comfort, his voice quietly singing 'tra-la-lay' with her.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** Journey home. Troubles. More demons.

**Author's Notes:** Awww! My baby Glorfindel! Come here and let me hug you~!

And WOW! Really, wow! I never realized Glorfindel has such many fangirls! (Or maybe I am not just paying attention to other fics?) He has definitely become my most favourite elf in the whole Tolkien legendarium, but in this fic, I'll complicate his character even more. *cringes* What do you guys think? Shall we have an awesome Glorfee party? *already wears party hat*

***only-one-mirkwood-princess** \- Why do I have the feeling that you will bludgeon dear Glorfee to death? （・□・；）

***Rosiethehobbit17** \- *pulls out notebook* Okay, Rosie as a member of the anti-Celairis group. Check!

Glorfindel?! *hugs him obsessively* Noooo, I am not selling Glorfindel... unless you have the "green" with you. (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

***Asmodeus Black** \- Oh, yes! This is fabulous! Aw, don't worry! We shall have Thranduil in a few chapters...

***llcyyxx** \- _Oh my sweet summer child_... We shall see when the story unfolds! (That is a _Game of Thrones_ reference by the way.)

***DeLacus** \- Let us all bask in the glory of Glorfindel! Like the previous chapter, I was fangirling for hours as I proofread the chapter. *squeals*

***SparklesJustReads** \- #TeamThrandy/Eryn all the way! Though you are quite right; Celairis does not seem too bad. I really do not like our favourite Elvenking to be taken by "the other woman". Besides, I do not think Thranduil would allow himself to be taken that easily! As for Glorfindel, _now_ I know he has so many fans. The handsome, brave, dashing... *internally screaming* As I do not read other fics, I cannot really imagine our baby Glorfee to be a jerk. I have always imagined him as a formal and modest elf...

Enough of me ranting! Thank you for the review! ( ˘ ³˘)

***Rousdower** \- Rooussssyy! Rousy! Where have you been?! I've missed you! *tackles you* Ohh, I have seen the summary of your new Glorfindel/OC fic (which I have not read because I do not have enough time), but congratulations on the success! Let us all celebrate with a dance! (┌・。・)┌

Wrapping all that up, I am very grateful of everyone's lovely reviews! And here I am still squealing in front of the computer. This chapter marks the first signs of complications. We'll still see in the upcoming chapters. Enjoy this one first, folks! For my fellow fangirls, here's Glorfindel for you!


	36. Of Thunder and Lightning

**Chapter 36**

_**Of Thunder and Lightning**_

* * *

Gildor could not help but glance every once in a while behind him. Erynlith was singing, which was not very surprising, but Glorfindel was actually singing with her. _Glorfindel of all people!_ They rode behind the travelling host, their horses walking side by side, as they continued inventing songs which made no sense at all. Their voices would then be trailed off with rich laughter from them.

It was an amusing sight for Gildor and his companions; both elves were comfortable enough to be travelling together. Erynlith brought out the intensity from Glorfindel; he spent his first few days in Lindon keeping to himself, always shy and polite. But when Erynlith was urged more to befriend him, he became quite enthusiastic and friendly to others.

*"_Dance all ye joyful, now dance all together!_

_Soft is the grass, and let foot be like feather!_

_The river is silver, the shadows are fleeting;_

_Merry is May-time, and merry our meeting."_

The song went on and on. Eventually, all the other elves sang along with them, all the more inventing phrases for the song. They were intent on proposing for Lindir when they had returned from journey. They passed through the lands, which Erynlith whispered aside to Glorfindel and said, "Arthedain, realm of the Edain." It was run by the Kings of Men, descended from the line of Isildur. Elrond had little dealings with them after the War, and the names of the kings the elves never knew. It was said that the current King of Arthedain was an excellent hunter, who hunted in the fields that fenced his lands. It was the same path the elves from Rivendell trekked and glad they were that none of the king's hunters blocked them.

The caravan crossed a shallow river and moved on. The night in the realm of Arthedain was foggy, prompting the travelling elves to be cautious. Gildor held up a lamp as he rode at the head of the line; his blue eyes narrowing at each corner of the pathway. The neighs of the horses jerked them up, and some reared at their wake. Glorfindel, being at the end of the line, warily felt for the grip of his sword. He looked behind the line, silently hoping that none would appear in the middle of the darkness. And then, his companion slipped from her horse, looking ahead.

"Erynlith," Glorfindel whispered sharply. "Get back here." But she did not listen. Her eyes were darted on the side of the road, between the thick bushes. Owl hoots sounded behind them, and Erynlith followed the sound. Her love for beasts was not needed at the time like this, especially when everyone was weary. "Erynlith, please," the warrior whispered again; he himself was on the verge of dismounting his horse and pulling her back. "Get back here or so help me."

Instead, Erynlith stretched her hands to touch an owl perched on top of the tree. It hooted and squawked at her threateningly, flying off when she yelped at its feistiness. She laughed quietly and turned back to her friend. "See, Glorfindel? No trouble at all, tra-lo."

But, the gleaming golden eyes behind her said otherwise.

Glorfindel kicked the sides of his horse, his silver sword already unsheathed. He threw himself upon the company of orcs that lurked in the shadows, as Erynlith fell on the ground.

The elves were in panic. Everyone was suddenly running away from the scene, shouting at each other in Elvish. Some urged their horses off into the darkness beyond; others whirled around to the opposite road. Gildor watched in horror as his travelling companions disappeared one after the other, until all that was left were him, Erynlith, and Glorfindel.

Fearful as he was, Gildor stepped backwards until one orc grasped him by the forearm. He struggled from his captor, mustering all his strength, but he was no warrior. He was not as lithe and quick as Erestor, or as agile as Erynlith. At a moment's notice, Gildor was able to free himself and ran towards busy field. He saw Erynlith still on the ground, looking stunned at Glorfindel's fighting prowess.

"Run!" Gildor cried, already pulling her wrist. He had no weapons in his person, and he would never want to even carry some. He was resolved on relying to Erynlith and her hunting experience, but that very elf was in daze.

"No," Erynlith quietly said. She freed her wrist from his tight grip and ran back to her horse. The bow and quiver that was strapped there was all she needed, and she gestured for Gildor to hide. "Stay hidden," she instructed and notched an arrow.

Her hands were trembling as she aimed; the sight of Glorfindel fighting off several orcs shook her to the bones. When Glorfindel fell on his knees, she tightened her hold on the arrow and released it. The arrow pierced an orc's throat, and soon, more followed dead on the ground. Glorfindel rammed his sword home to the chests, earning coughs and mewling gasps from the enemies. His elegant blue tunic was now dark with crimson, and his long golden hair was loose from its bind. He kept on advancing the orcs, and those who threw themselves towards Erynlith were faced with the bow. But as the fight went on, Gildor was found by the orcs and pulled out of him hiding place.

"Eryn!" He called out to her, struggling from his captors.

Yet it was Glorfindel who sprinted off and fought against the three orcs that held him. Gildor quickly mounted Erynlith's black horse, in an attempt to take them both away from the ensuing chaos; but a stray orc hissed at the horse and it bolted off into the night. Gildor disappeared into the mists, leaving Glorfindel and Erynlith to themselves.

Erynlith felt limp, as she helplessly watched Gildor being whisked away by her stallion. She could see that the golden-haired Ñoldo struggled to dismount the horse and return to them, but the darkness had engulfed him before he could do so.

When the orcs advanced towards her still form, Glorfindel aggressively snatched the bow and quiver from her unsteady hands. He fired the arrows with great precision, until the remaining creatures fell dead on the ground.

His companion gave him another stunned look.

"You are amazing," Erynlith breathed, looking at her friend in disbelief and awe. "You took them out single-handedly."

"I did not," answered Glorfindel, still panting. He caught sight of that one horse that did not bolt when the ambush took place. He took the weapons and geared them on the horse's back. Then, he smiled softly at her. "I was not alone. You helped me."

"No, really," she insisted. "You were _amazing_. I have to learn those moves of yours some day."

He laughed now. "Moves, you say? Perhaps when we get to Rivendell. You are not hurt, are you?" Erynlith shook her head and smiled reassuringly. "Good," he said again and mounted the horse. "Let's go. The others are scattered around these parts. It is already late at night and I fear that there is a storm brewing."

Erynlith looked into the night sky. It was dark; so she could not tell if there was indeed a storm coming. When Glorfindel offered her a hand, she accepted it and rode behind him, her hands lightly stroking his sides of balance. They rode in utter silence, relying nothing but their keen senses.

Every once in a while, the golden elf would jerk up and scan the dark surroundings. He could feel his companion drifting off to sleep, her grip on him slowly loosening. With a small smile, he drew her hands tighter around his waist while balancing her body on the horse.

The rain began to pour heavily.

Erynlith gasped at the cold water, drawing herself closer to Glorfindel.

The warrior gritted his teeth, as he looked around. They were in the middle of a field—there were no shelters available. He mustered the horse faster as the water soaked him and Erynlith. The night was cold enough for a heavy rain. He could feel his friend shivering and chattering her teeth. He wanted to comfort her, to say something that would ease the growing coldness between them, but he found himself succumbing into that cold night as well. The horse was already limp and tired; Glorfindel worried that it might collapse in the middle of the storm.

"Forest, tra-la," Erynlith whispered weakly behind him. The golden elf stared at her. She gulped and said in a louder voice: "Forest, right there… Shelter, Glorfindel…"

He whipped his head to the direction she pointed, and there was indeed a forest. He mustered the horse faster, desperate for some shelter. The two exhausted elves instantly slipped from the horse and knelt on the ground. The trees served as their roof as Glorfindel carefully tied and soothed the equally exhausted horse. He found his companion rubbing two stones together, eliciting a small spark, and soon, a small fire. His eyes widened at the sight of the fire. Screams echoed from the back of his mind. He fought for composure, leaning against a tree trunk as he blinked his eyes eagerly.

Erynlith looked concerned and approached him. "Are you alright? Are you hurting anywhere?"

When he did not answer, she gently placed a hand on his shoulder. The warrior flinched and gasped, his eyes darkening with the invisible fear. He stared long at her, trying to pull himself together.

"Is everything alright, Glorfindel?"

He nodded. "Yes."

With that, Erynlith sat beside the small bonfire and leaned her back against the tree. Glorfindel approached the horse and took the gears that were stuffed there. To their outmost luck, a single blanket was stored there. It was blue and heavy, and he tossed it over to her lap. She looked at him incredulously, and he could only smile. He sat beside her, their shoulders brushing together. Water dripped from their foreheads and locks.

Erynlith spread the blanket out, burying herself and Glorfindel underneath.

"You can have it," Glorfindel quickly said, removing the blanket and covering his friend instead.

She pouted and tossed the other side of the blanket over him again. "I cannot rest with all the chattering of teeth going on," she huffed and forcefully leaned her head against his shoulder. The golden elf stiffened at the close contact. "Get some rest, okay? Then, we'll return to Rivendell soon, tra-la-lay…"

Eventually, Glorfindel melted into the close proximity. He felt himself getting drowsy; his companion's steady breaths lulling him to sleep. But whenever he felt his eyes close, he would instantly jerk up, shaking his head wildly. _Get yourself together_, he reminded himself. Even without his eyes closed, the fear coursed through his veins at the sight of the cackling fire in front of him. Shattered memories returned to him: the screaming of his people, the clanging of metal, and a burning city. _No, no, no._ The words he kept on repeating to himself. He tried looking at his friend, to find comfort that she promised. And the comfort was there, temporarily calming him as his heart relaxed again, and drowsiness took him.

Screams of terror wailed as the thunder sounded and the lightning flashed. Erynlith was jolted awake and her face fell on the ground when Glorfindel abruptly stood up. She looked at him in all her worry and confusion.

His eyes widened and darkened more, thrashing around their little camp. He kicked the small fire, stomping angrily at it. And he was cursing in the high Elven-tongue. Erynlith rushed towards the failing Glorfindel, his tall built and powerful arms easily throwing her aside. When she had successfully gotten hold of his face, she leaned closer and cupped his cheeks.

"Glorfindel," she whispered at his ear. The golden elf was shaking as he himself fought for composure. He closed his eyes forcefully, gulping the nightmares away. But he was still shaking. Erynlith ran her thumb across his cheek to soothe him. She had never seen him that way; it was like seeing her friend being possessed by a demon. "Glorfindel, I am scared," she whispered honestly. "What should I do?"

"Hold me," came his ragged reply, his voice equally shaking as his body. They leaned against the same tree trunk, now in darkness for the fire was dissipated from his assault. "Please, hold me… bring me back here… away from… the demon… a burning kingdom…" He was suppressing a sob. Yet he buried his face at the crook of Erynlith's neck, breathing in her forest scent. "The pain returns… thunder and lightning… fiery whip and shadows. They are returning for me…"

Erynlith hushed him as she began to rock them gently, as if coaxing an elfling to sleep. She did not know what he was talking about, but she was as terrified as him. She did not know how he felt, but she wanted to be there for him: to be his comfort. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer as Glorfindel allowed himself closer to her. He was still sobbing in his fear, in his regrets.

Having no words for him, she began to sing softly, her hand freely raking through golden tresses.

*"_Sing we now softly, and dreams let us weave him_

_Wind him in slumber and there let us leave him_

_The wanderer sleepeth. Now soft be his pillow_

_Lullaby! Lullaby! Alder and Willow_

_Sigh no more Pine, till the wind of the morn."_

Glorfindel relaxed beneath her. His breathing gradually became steady, and he shook no more. He opened his eyes again and shifted lightly, suddenly aware of their position. But he did not want to turn away; something deep within wanted to stay there, lying with her under the trees, and to hear her sing for him.

"Are you feeling better now?" She asked, her fingers playing with his hair now.

Glorfindel nodded weakly. "Thank you very much, Erynlith," he said as he gave up and moved away from her. He gave her a reassuring smile. "I owe you for bringing me back. But I am tired… _so_ tired. I do not wish to sleep or even close my eyes."

"Then, talk to me, Glorfindel. Tell me everything, tra-lay."

"I…" He was unable to think of anything. Where would he start? Even if he did tell her, would she accept him? Very unlikely. "I cannot…"

She laughed quietly. "You don't need to force yourself. You can tell me anytime you want. Now, shall we return to rest? I am afraid the storm insists on keeping us here. It won't leave until morning, tra-la."

"But we cannot stay any longer. Orcs might find us here."

"I am more concerned about Gildor and the others. I hope they found a way to regroup themselves. It would be hard now. These parts are naturally foggy during the night and early morning. And our poor horse is worn out already…"

"In this matter, I think we should disregard the idea of regrouping with them," Glorfindel said. He sat beside her, both leaning against the trunk as the blanket covered them again. "We should focus ourselves in returning to Rivendell. You do know your way there even without Gildor, don't you?" He looked down at her; a small smirk was across his lips.

She lifted her chin proudly. "Of course, I do! Rivendell is just a few days away. Many things could happen in the next few days. Who knows… maybe we'll run into Elladan and Elrohir in the fields."

"Ella—what?" Glorfindel said incredulously.

"Elladan and Elrohir." She laughed heartily. She had forgotten to mention the sons of Elrond to him. She had always talked about Arwen, and the golden elf was interested enough to meet her. She began to explain who Elladan and Elrohir were, and soon enough, he laughed with her.

"Oh, I see." Glorfindel chuckled. "It would be interesting to run across them, wouldn't it?"

"Yes." She suppressed a yawn. "But for now… let us get more rest. You have interrupted mine earlier, dear friend, tra-la-lo. Do you want me to stay awake for you? I can talk for the whole night… oh, do you want me to stop talking instead, tra-la?"

Glorfindel smiled and pulled her to him, her head resting on his shoulder again. "You can sleep, dear friend, tra-la. You have done too much for me today, and I owe you… The fires are gone, and so are the thunder and lightning, tra-la-lay."

* * *

*_Elves Lullaby_ – J.R.R. Tolkien

**Author's Notes:** Sshh, baby Glorfindel, everything will be fine. I hate to say this but I think I am starting to ship Glorfindel/Eryn. *hides behind a tree*

Anyway, I updated a day earlier as I usually do, because the death of Sir Christopher Lee has reached my ears. It is really sad to know that a fantastic actor singer (and overall a fantastic person) to pass away. He lived an exciting life for 93 years, and between those years he met Professor Tolkien. He shall truly be missed. Thank you for bringing Saruman to the big screen._ Namárië_, Sir Christopher Lee. *cries*

***Rosiethehobbit17** \- Oohhh, you can have Legolas! I'll keep Glorfindel to myself! MUAHAHAHA! I hope Thrandy brings the wine, though. O Thranduil, Thranduil, whence art thou? And the sea! Lucky you! Do you often go there? I've always wanted to have a house near the sea. A rest house, maybe?

***sieni1** \- Aw, thank you! It is very nice to meet you! Hope you enjoy this story more!

***only-one-mirkwood-princess** \- B-but... I thought Glorfindel is mine? *shouts through megaphone* Paging Thranduil, the one true King of Greenwood! Come claim your Erynlith as soon as possible please.

***Evangeline Pond** \- Two chapters in and you already ship Glorfindel/Eryn? YAS! High five! If this helps, have a another chapter to ship them!

***StrawberryObsession** \- What a lovely review! I do think Glorfindel's instability kind of reminisces to Thranduil's stubbornness after the War, though the two will differ greatly. Thrandy did depend on Erynlith, but hated being pitied on; Glorfindel, on the other hand, has no qualms showing this weakness. He allows himself to be comforted, whereas Thrandy always goes, "No, don't touch me, peasant". XD Thank you for the review!

***Asmodeus Black** \- Yep, I am itching to write some Thrandy as well, but the incoming chapters still focus on Glorfindel and Erynlith. Sooo sorry about that, Black! What kind of friction do you want to see? Some sort of a cat fight? But I do not think it would suit an Elvenking of Greenwood and a High Captain from Gondolin... Still, thanks for stopping by!

***DeLacus** \- *gasps* Are those... Oreo cookies! Can I has some? Hmm, I guess Eryn and Glorfee are okay... but Eryn and Thrandy is waaaayy better.

**P.S.** I am getting mixed feelings about this. Which team? Thranduil/Erynlith, Thranduil/Celairis, Glorfindel/Erynlith, or G̶l̶o̶r̶f̶i̶n̶d̶e̶l̶/̶m̶e̶? Oops, sorry! I just fangirl a lot on Glorfindel, that's all. I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. Sincerest thanks to everyone who reviews, follows, and favourites this story!


	37. Crown of Flowers

**Chapter 37**

_**Crown of Flowers**_

* * *

"What do you mean you lost them?" Erestor repeated impatiently.

The dark-haired counselor glared at the helpless Ñoldo in front of him. At his desk, Elrond sighed and rubbed his temple.

This confrontation was inevitable. Only a few hours ago, Gildor and the other elves that traveled from Lindon arrived. All were delighted to see them. But when Erestor's eyes searched for the one he cared for, his eyes darkened all the more and forcefully pulled Gildor, and shoved him in Elrond's study room for a discussion. Gildor had told them the story of how they were ambushed by orcs in the middle of the night, with Erynlith and Glorfindel trying to defend the other elves when, suddenly, his horse bolted off. Gildor prepared himself from a good scolding, not from Elrond, but from the furious Erestor.

"And you did not return for them?" The questions continued to pour, and Gildor helplessly nodded. Erestor quickly turned Elrond. "We must find them immediately," he said. "Eryn could be somewhere and—"

"So, Erynlith and Glorfindel defended you, hm?" Elrond mused, completely ignoring Erestor. Then, he chuckled in amusement. "Sounds what exactly Lord Glorfindel would do…"

"Yes, but keep in mind that they are missing, Elrond. _Missing_!" Erestor flailed his hands. "The very reborn elf that you are anticipating is lost, and his only companion is Eryn!"

"If I were you, dear counselor, I will not trouble myself so," Elrond said calmly.

"And why not?"

Elrond laughed. "Having the two of them together will make them closer. Trust me, I know things, Erestor."

* * *

Glorfindel sighed and shifted from his seat. "Are you done yet?"

"No," came the reply.

He smiled. "Oh, but I am getting restless on my spot, my lady. Shall I turn around now?"

"Not yet, Glorfindel!"

With that, he stifled a laugh. The two of them had been traveling for weeks now, stopping every once in a while when Erynlith insisted to get some rest. Despite his growing weariness, Glorfindel allowed to stop and make camp. The blue blanket they shared was almost worn out; she was a heavy sleeper, Glorfindel thought every night in amusement. In their camp, they would not make bonfire, both clearly aware that it made him uncomfortable. And at night, when she had already drifted off into reverie, Glorfindel would keep into his thoughts, absentmindedly combing his fingers through her umber hair.

In that particular morning, Erynlith insisted that they stop for a rest and to offer him something that would ease his mind. Hearing that, Glorfindel suspiciously arched an eyebrow. But his friend only laughed and set him leaning against a tree as she disappeared behind the thick bushes.

"I think I am falling asleep here…" Glorfindel crooned again.

"Stop lying, Glorfindel. We both know you don't sleep!" Her voice shouted from behind.

"It is almost lunchtime, Erynlith. Whatever are you doing there?" _No answer_. He huffed. "That better not be one of the sticky substances you used on my hair last week… I have learned my lessons, tra-la, and that is not to mess with you, tra-lo."

Erynlith laughed and emerged, her hands behind her back. The golden elf arched an eyebrow.

"Close your eyes, Glorfindel," she instructed, and he was quick to comply. Then, she knelt and placed something light on his head. When she leaned back, she said: "Okay, you can open them, tra-la…"

He opened his eyes and reached out for his head. He felt the soft petals of flowers, and he momentarily removed it to see what it was. A daisy flower crown. So that was why his friend had been too busy. She spent hours making a flower crown for him. How flattering.

"Beautiful." Glorfindel smiled and wore the crown again. "What is this for?"

"To make you feel better," Erynlith chirped. "You were brooding again last night. I hope you don't mind white flowers; only daisies grow in these parts, tra-lay."

"I love it." He laughed. "I am going to wear this _all_ day."

"Are you sure? Rivendell is just around the corner. Lord Elrond will see you wearing a flower crown. It might also give some impressions of the other elves, tra-lo." She warned, but could not suppress an amused smile. She walked up to the hose they shared, patted its muzzle, and mounted.

Glorfindel followed and took the reins. "I do not mind wearing it," he said, mustering the horse forward. The Misty Mountains already loomed ahead of them, and it would already be a matter of time for them to reach the hidden valley wherein Rivendell was located. "I used to wear flower crowns all the time, though the flowers were mostly yellow."

Throughout their whole journey, he only gave hints of his past. He never fully mentioned names and places, but he trusted her enough to mention something about a Balrog. And whenever he mentioned that name, he would tremble and seek for comfort. He was just like an elfling that someone would want to take care of. During the night, he was always too cautious and alert, mistaking each and every noise to be enemies lurking in the shadows. He was paranoid in a way Erynlith wanted to describe, but she never told him. It would probably the last thing she wanted to tell him.

When Rivendell was just a few miles away, she took the reins from him and bolted the horse faster, already too eager to come home. She knew the area well and guided the horse through corners. The pathway was rocky and steep. Glorfindel looked up; he could hear the bubbling noises of streams.

"Here we are," Erynlith whispered as they approached the bridge.

And the golden elf was in awe. He heard from Círdan that Rivendell was a beautiful place, but the sight before him was more beautiful than he anticipated. The house was full of life, trees and waterfalls made it all happen. There was a white watchtower behind the main house. Upon reaching the courtyard, he and his companion slipped off from their tired horse. And his eyes continued to feast on the place. Not long after, elves came running towards them. All were dark-haired, for the exception of Gildor Inglorion.

"Eryn!" Someone voiced out.

Glorfindel turned to see who it was. One of the dark-haired elves, tall and slender and clad in an elegant black robe. He ran past the golden elf to admit his female companion in a whole-hearted embrace. He continued to observe; he couldn't help but be curious. The newcomer kissed Erynlith's forehead, scolding her for getting home so late. And she laughed heartily, calling him brother.

More elves arrived and what caught Glorfindel's attention was a stunning lady with silver hair. He already guessed that she was one of the Sindar. Her arm was intertwined with her lord, and three other elves followed behind them: two elves who looked exactly the same and another one who was more beautiful than any other. Glorfindel also guessed that this was Arwen, the one whom Erynlith described as the most beautiful in the valley.

"Lord Glorfindel." The Master of the Imladris addressed him formally.

"Lord Elrond?" Glorfindel answered, already dipping his head into a low bow. He spared another bow to Celebrían and her children. "I am honored to be in your presence, my lord."

Elrond smiled warmly. "Welcome to Rivendell. These are my Lady Celebrían, my sons Elladan and Elrohir, and my daughter Arwen. I trust that your journey all the way has to troubles at all. I am sorry about what happened when the group was separated. I could have sent a search party for you."

Glorfindel shook his head politely. "It is not needed, my lord. Lady Erynlith and I found our way back."

"That sounds well," Elrond said. He gestured for the main house. "Your journey was long. Please come inside and have some rest. Then, I can show you to your chambers."

"Yes, of course." He spared a glance at Erynlith who was still occupied. He followed Elrond and his family inside the main house.

The elves of Rivendell greeted him cordially. Elrond gave him a tour in all parts of the house, especially those that would concern Glorfindel the most. It was already agreed that Glorfindel would take over the captainship of Rivendell's forces and become the seneschal. The barracks, stables, and armories were shown to him. There was a brief introduction for the soldiers that were there. Lindir met Glorfindel in the Halls of Fire when everyone was gathered. Even Gildor greeted Glorfindel once again, apologizing for the night of ambush. When he would search for Erynlith, she would always be kept in the company of various elves, especially the one whom Gildor introduced as Erestor.

_Ah, the brother she always spoke of_, Glorfindel mused.

Dinner was shared later on. He and Elrond shared idle talks, of news concerning Círdan and the newly-arrived Olórin, who preferred to stay behind in Lindon. Elrond asked about their journey for the weeks that passed, and he was delighted to answer all the questions. The brothers Elladan and Elrohir seemed drawn to him, and so was Arwen. It was rumored in Rivendell that the golden elf was reborn at the bidding of the Valar, and everyone there thought he was lucky to have a second chance in life. Celebrían eagerly mentioned her parents who were both familiar to Glorfindel. He knew both Galadriel and Celeborn back in the good old days that he refused to speak any more.

After eating, Elrond offered to finally show him his rooms. But Erynlith called out and pulled Erestor towards him.

"Glorfindel," she beamed, pulling Erestor closer. "This is my brother, Erestor. Erestor, Lord Glorfindel…"

The golden elf politely bowed. "Greetings, Lord Erestor."

"Likewise, Lord Glorfindel," answered the other. "I am grateful for your watching over Erynlith for the last weeks."

"Ah, that was enjoyable." Glorfindel laughed quietly.

The conversation was interrupted when Elrond appeared again, insisting that their new guest should see his bedchambers. He was convinced that Glorfindel was exhausted and would want to rest now. But Erynlith knew better. As Glorfindel followed Elrond reluctantly, Erynlith unlatched herself from Erestor and followed. She could feel her friend already trembling under his tunic, his jaw clenched tightly. His deep blue eyes were set on the corridor up ahead as the elf lord that led them continued with his monologue. In an attempt to comfort him, Erynlith tapped Glorfindel's shoulder and smiled at him.

"You look silly with the flower crown, tra-lo," she told him.

"Oh, my." Glorfindel laughed. He reached for the top of his head. "I have forgotten that I still have this. Lady Celebrían and all the others have seen me with it. Do I really look silly?"

"You do, but it also makes you look pretty. I think Elladan and Elrohir are envious, tra-lay."

"I wouldn't count on it." He chuckled.

Finally, they arrived in front of large double doors. Elrond opened one and ushered them inside to have a better look. There was a grand four-posted bed in the middle, arrayed with several pillows and layers of mattresses and blanket. A fireplace was in the side; bookshelf and wardrobe were also on the other. The window overlooked the waterfalls and garden below the room.

"Does it suit your fancy, Lord Glorfindel?" Elrond asked.

He nodded. "Yes, my lord. I am very grateful. Thank you."

"Well then, I should leave you for rest. Erfaron, let us leave Lord Glorfindel to his business." Elrond turned to leave the grand room. Erynlith was about to follow but Glorfindel quickly grabbed her wrist, prompting her to turn back to him.

"Please," he whispered.

Elrond had also turned and gave them a confused look.

Glorfindel ignored him. "Erynlith, I can't… Please…"

"Is everything alright, Lord Glorfindel?" Elrond interrupted again.

"Yes," Erynlith answered him. "I will follow you later, Lord Elrond."

With that, the half-elf reluctantly nodded and left them be. The door was shut softly and the pattering of his feet faded afterwards. Erynlith turned again to her friend; his worried look reminded her of how he looked like before. His brows were furrowed; the grip on her wrist was gentle but demanding. Glorfindel was starting to tremble, the darkness finally registering in his mind. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.

Erynlith smiled and tapped his cheek.

"You'll be fine, Glorfindel," she said, now combing her finger through his golden tresses. "Just one night of sleep, okay? Get yourself some rest. If you need me, my room is not far away from here. Look for the white and blue door; that is mine. And beside that is Erestor's. No need to worry. You'll be fine. I promise."

But Glorfindel shook his head briskly. "No, Erynlith, please… The darkness… I cannot…"

"Really, now…" Erynlith said, soothing him again. "Take your thoughts away from the darkness. Rest your mind, Glorfindel. When you need me, I'll be nearby. And if the thunder and lightning return, think of the lovely flower crown you have. It will make you feel silly…"

"Alright." He nodded reluctantly. "I will try."

She winked. "Good night, Glorfindel."

"Good night, Erynlith."

He let his hand slip from her wrist and watched her leave his room. When she was gone, Glorfindel scanned the room. It was spacious and dark; only the moonlight illuminated the place. Instead of occupying the bed, he collapsed on the corner of the room, hugging his knees and breathing heavily. The walls were closing in on him, the imaginary fire suddenly sparking in the hearth. He knew he was only imagining things, but he was scared again. He wanted to be held again, to have someone whisper him words of encouragement. Thinking of Erynlith, he took the white flower crown above his head and stared at it. He ran his fingers on the petals, taking a whiff of its flowery scent. He sighed and kept his thoughts focused on his new friend and the crown.

He was _the_ mighty Glorfindel. He could shake these fears away. He only had to find out _how_.

* * *

The Elvenking of Greenwood was silent in his steps, as he arrived in the small garden behind his fortress. The evening breeze was soothing, the silence comforting, and the absence of another presence a relief. His counselors had been hounding him about this and that, his Elven-guard investigating some problems in the forest, and his Chief Counselor…

He sighed heavily and dropped himself on the marble bench. He removed his thick robes, gleaming jewels and crown of red leaves, leaving him nothing with a simple inner tunic, black breeches, and boots—like a heap of clothes for laundry. Tonight, he decided not to be King of Greenwood, but simply as Thranduil, son of Oropher. Kingship was such a pain in the neck that he often wondered why he wanted his father's crown in the first place.

_Spring_, Thranduil thought, observing the little garden that Celairis had attended for these past decades.

A lone oak tree stood in the middle, circled by various flowers. His Chief Counselor was always neat that her flowers were arranged according to colour. It certainly made him laugh. On one corner was a small patch of _pînnaur, _the little flame, but mortals called them pansies. A larger patch was closer to the oak tree, filled with the familiar bluebells.

"_Luinell_." Thranduil crawled towards the flowers and observed them. In a distant memory, someone was making a flower crown of bluebells for him, making him promise to wear them when he was finally King of Greenwood. King Oropher had always worn a crown of berries, and someone—someone so familiar—had told him to wear a crown of flowers instead.

Even in his uncertainty, Thranduil plucked a handful of bluebells and placed them on his lap. His eyes looked long at the flowers, before he began connecting one stem to the other and intertwining them. He muttered a curse when his first attempt did not go right, but he did not stop there. He was so engrossed in his business that he had not noticed someone approaching him.

Celairis was about to announce her arrival, but stopped short at the sight of Thranduil. He was there, the Elvenking of Greenwood, sitting cross-legged on the grassy floor, making a flower crown. He was pouting at his inability to create a good one, like a child in the brink of throwing a tantrum.

"Get away, Raithon," the irritated King said. Then, he looked behind him and showed a hint of disappointment. "Oh, Celairis. I thought you were—"

"Flower crowns?" She smiled and gestured at the awkwardly-made crown.

Slowly, Thranduil obscured his work from her amused eyes. He stared up at her with a hard look, assessing his power as a ruler. "I was bored, this is nothing. What are you doing here?"

"King Amroth of Lórinand invites you, my lord. He did not mention any business. He only mentioned that it is urgent."

He scratched the back of his head, frowning. "Leave it to Amroth for being so theatrical. Fine, tell him I am going, only if he lets me go whenever I want."

"Of course." Celairis laughed, but her bright blue eyes fell again on the flower crown. The King was no longer paying attention to her. His mind was set on finishing his work. Then, she spoke up. "_Luinell_? Erfaron loved them, did she not?"

There was no answer.

It only made her feel bolder.

"Erfaron loved _luinell_ and made flower crowns out of them, _tra-la_."

It finally registered to him.

Thranduil immediately looked up, his eyes narrowing fiercely at her. He dropped the crown and stood up, towering over her slender frame. His female counselor flinched briefly, before inhaling and standing her ground against him. It almost made him chuckle, how Celairis was trying to defy him when only _one_ elf could do that and get away with it.

"What did you say?" He challenged her.

"Erfaron and _luinell_," Celairis answered quietly, now avoiding his glare. "Forgive me if I gave offense, my lord."

He stared at her for a while, before turning his back to her. "Leave me. Now."

The Chief Counselor immediately complied, bowing her head and scurrying away from the garden. If the rumours were right, the King and Erfaron always had arguments like this, but Celairis could never fathom how Erfaron managed the King's volatile temper. She dabbed the tears from her eyes, promising to herself never to cross Thranduil ever again.

* * *

**Next Chapter Preview:** Some things have changed; some still haven't.

**Author's Notes:** Take that burn, Celairis! Woo hoo! Oh my, I suddenly feel so mean for bullying my own OC. But nobody messes with Thranduil and gets away with it so easily! For the anti-Celairis readers, HIGH FIVE!

Oh, but shhh, baby Glorfindel. Everything will be fine.

***Rosiethehobbit17** \- Ohh, that beach you are talking about sounds amazing~ I hear there are wonderful tourist destinations in Cape Town! I just hope I have the money to travel wherever I want! Wouldn't that be a miracle? XD *holds up microphone, in a politician voice* As a member of the anti-Celairis group, do you have something to say?

***SparklesJustReads** \- Hmm, a little tension between Glorfindel/Eryn and Thrandy/Celairis would be incredible. We have lots of time to work on that, seeing as Elves can live for bajillions of years! I guess the point of separating them is for them to grow independently from each other, y'know. Thran needs to be king, and we know Eryn is the _least_ person who can help him with politics. That, or she is just super-clingy to Erestor. XD But thank you for your insight!

***Evangeline Pond** \- LOL. Why not both? Glorfy gets to have Eryn for a while, then BAM! Thrandy comes in and saves the day! Hooray! *throws confetti*

***Treesaw** \- Ooh, we'll see! #TeamThranduil

***StrawberryObsession** \- I do think Glorfindel could make her fall for him, especially with his dashing good looks! (º﹃º) His personality is his charm, after all. We'll get there sooner or later. On the other hand, we've seen much of Thranduil's personality. Like in this chapter, he kinds scares me. His temper can be very volatile. Eryn could somehow work on it.

***llcyyxx** \- Jaffa cake! Wait! Are you bribing me to have Thrandy and Eryn together again?! LOL, just kidding. It could happen, especially when Amroth and Raithon are practically Thrandy/Eryn shippers, if you remember. ~

***Guest** \- Well... I guess we could share Glorfindel. He needs _lots_ of love! And Thrandy needs to stop sulking and start getting things done. Thank you for stopping by!

***Eirithdiel** \- Nice to meet you, tra-la! Thanks for following the story. Lots have already happened, but I am glad you've caught up with it! Feel free to ship whoever you want; there's more where that came from. (u‿ฺu✿ฺ) And I hope this story would make you love the Elves even more. They are a bunch of very interesting, yet complex, characters.

***DeLacus** \- Thank you! *munches on Oreo cookies* I know how you feel; I was quiet for a few minutes before I accepted that he was truly dead. *sniffs*

Glorfy and Eryn have much in common, while Thrandy and Eryn are opposites. And opposites attract, do they not? (●ゝω・)～

***GreedyBunneh** \- I love how you spell "Bunneh"! Anyway, welcome and nice to meet you. Thank you for such a passionate review! Looks like someone is already a hard Glorfy/Eryn shipper. Thrandy might be heartbroken if he hears. XD

**P.S. **I cannot thank everyone enough for the positive reviews! We're starting to have complications with the shippers. I'll let you guys decide on that matter. For now, enjoy this chapter; for the anti-Celairis readers, rejoice! She just got burned by our sassy Elvenking.

Once again, thank you for all the readers and reviewers!


	38. Reminiscing

**Chapter 38**

_**Reminiscing**_

* * *

It was one of the rare moments when Thranduil was actually out of his secluded palace.

"I was worried that you are sick," Amroth said, laughing. "I haven't seen you for the past hundred years, my friend. You refuse to leave your palace, refuse to send messages. Basically, you refuse everything and everyone."

Thranduil rolled his eyes. "Tell me something I don't know. If you want, I can leave already. It is not like I want to be here anyway." He swirled the red liquor that was in his cup, looking down at his reflection. "If my counselor did not have any business here in Lórinand, I wouldn't have come."

"Oh, please." Amroth snorted. "We both know Lady Celairis would be fine by travelling here with the Elven-guard. You are the only one who insisted on coming. Worried much, aren't you?"

"Not really," Thranduil countered. "I trust Raithon enough for the protection of my counselor. It just so happens that Lady Galadriel and Celeborn are also here. Since when did you start negotiating with them?"

Indeed, Galadriel and Celeborn always traveled abroad. After Lindon, they moved to Rivendell and then to Eregion. Whenever they felt like it, they would visit Amroth in Lórinand. There was a mutual understand between the King and Lord Celeborn, being both Sindar and hailing from the same kingdom before. And Thranduil knew them both; he knew Celeborn when he was young, though the two never had dealings with each other that much. After the downfall of Sauron, Galadriel and Celeborn often went to Lórinand and mingled with the Silvan folk there. Nimrodel liked Celeborn, being a friend of Amroth's, but she was wary of Galadriel.

"A couple of centuries," Amroth shrugged in answer. "You need to go outside every once in a while. You cannot rely on your counselors and guards forever."

"Forever is a long time." Thranduil sighed. "And stop lecturing me. I am not a child." He looked around the well-lighted room. The lamps gave it a silver and blue hue. "Where is Celairis? I want to return thither to Greenwood now." Not only did he want to go home, he did not want to deal with Galadriel. There was something about the lady that he was not exactly fond of.

"Why rush to go home?" Amroth raised an eyebrow. "I mean, if you can visit Lórinand, you can also visit Rivendell."

Thranduil glared at his friend.

"What?" Amroth laughed innocently. "I don't remember you visiting Rivendell at all. You haven't even met Elrond's children yet. Celeborn says they are friendly and pleasant. Are you not even interested about the newcomer there? It was rumored that he was reborn or something… Erynlith should know…"

"I have no interest in such affairs," Thranduil answered coldly. "I am more interested in returning home with my counselor."

"Suit yourself." Amroth already gave up on convincing his friend. The Elvenking of Greenwood was too stubborn and self-centered now. He cared not much of outside stories, embracing the ideal of his father: to return to a simple life in the woods. Oropher was idealistic of letting the other elves do whatever they wished as long as the Silvan folk of Greenwood were peaceful and safe. Should there be another war, Amroth was sure Thranduil would not participate in it.

"Do not blame me if you miss too much," Amroth warned, propping his chin under a palm. "Everyone in Rivendell is really ecstatic about this newcomer, and I am sure Erynlith is one of them."

"Whatever." Thranduil scoffed.

Amroth laughed heartily. "By the way, this year's _Aduial en Meleth_ is three days away. How about spending it here with us? Nimrodel would want to have Lady Celairis for the occasion."

"No, thank you," came the quick reply. "Do you even remember the last time I celebrated that here? Apparently, I am not into orc ambushes and late night chases anymore." He shrugged at the gruesome memory.

"Really?" Amroth's smile turned sly. "If I remember correctly, you were wailing on how we should chase after them right away, considering that you were very worried about my cousin. It turns out that Erynlith and Nimrodel were fine, and they even managed to scare off some orcs."

Thranduil glared again. "That was a thousand years ago… I could hardly remember how I felt. Either way, I will not spend the evening here."

"And with whom should you share the night?" He loved tormenting his friend with each questions.

"I can spend it with Celairis like how the last evenings were. Don't get your hopes up about your cousin. I have moved on from her. What I felt about her was nothing but a child's infatuation. I am a King now. I need no such petty company." His voice was cold once again, and he meant every word that he said. No one in Greenwood really remembered Erynlith anymore, except for Raithon who always claimed to miss her, much to the King's annoyance.

"You make it sound as if her company is terrible." Amroth frowned.

"What? No…" Thranduil reluctantly whispered. "I did not mean that. Let us talk of other matters. And damn, where is Celairis?"

As he stood up to look for her, two figures entered the room. Celeborn and Galadriel stood in front of Thranduil in their entire splendor and grace. The golden hair of Galadriel mingled with the silver hue of the place, making her all the more beautiful. Her hand rested on Celeborn's arm, whose dark eyes stared at the surprised Thranduil. Gradually, the two elves smiled and bowed, acknowledging him as the Elvenking. In response, Thranduil nodded lightly and walked past them, sparing Celeborn a knowing look.

_I have no time for formalities_, Thranduil thought and went to look for his counselor.

Celairis was speaking to Nimrodel when the King found her. The two elven-maidens were sitting on the edge of the river which was Nimrodel's home. At the sight of the King, they smiled and Celairis approached him. Thranduil quickly snaked an arm around his counselor's waist and then smiled to Nimrodel. The last time he saw Nimrodel was the last _Aduial en Meleth_ that he spent in Lórinand. At length, he excused himself and his counselor from Nimrodel and went away.

"Are you done with your business here?" Thranduil impatiently asked.

The incident in the gardens was all forgotten. Celairis had profusely apologized to the King, by spending more and more time in the council chambers. Sometimes she skipped dinner on purpose, only to make up for the offense she gave; all until Thranduil himself got bored and decided to forgive her.

Celairis laughed quietly. "As a matter of fact, I am, my King. Should we return to Greenwood now? Lady Nimrodel invited me to stay here until the celebration. It is only in three days. I was hoping you can wait."

"I cannot," he grumbled. "I am not very excited about that and you know it."

"But it is customary to attend, especially for one who is so important," she coaxed him. "Just think of the Elvenking of Greenwood spending _Aduial en Meleth_ in a neighboring forest."

"I am more concerned about how you use that silver-tongue of yours on me." He smirked down at her.

She laughed. "I was hoping you'd say yes, my King."

Thranduil griamced. "Alright, dearest counselor of mine. We shall stay here for a few more days and celebrate _Aduial en Meleth_ with you."

* * *

Glorfindel bade the guards a good night before leaving the barracks himself. He had been too occupied in honing weapons and attending to the forging of more weapons and armors. He was no stranger to this kind of duty; in all honesty, he found delight in holding swords and knives and shields, having been trained to do so at an early part of his life. His guards welcomed him whole-heartedly in the barracks and were willing to accept the captainship that he promised. He trained them to hold different weapons and to ride the horse without bridle. Elladan and Elrohir would usually come there every morning to train with them. Sometimes, Erynlith would visit the barracks to watch their progress.

_Erynlith._ Thinking about her, Glorfindel's strides became faster and longer, eager to leave the hot and dark barracks to be in her company. Though he liked his chambers, he never slept there and the dark circles under his eyes darkened more. And Erynlith was always concerned about him, a product of being too friendly. Glorfindel never talked to other elves other than her and Elrond, and sometimes he would answer to some questions that Erestor had for him. He knew Erestor was wary about his closeness to Erynlith, being the protective brother that he was, but it was always Erynlith who laughed it off.

_Faster_, Glorfindel reminded himself until he broke into a run. He knew Erynlith was waiting for him at her usual spot on the bench in Celebrían's garden, the place where the two of them always strode.

Finally, he found her sitting under the trees and moonlight. Her back was turned against him, but her thick umber hair was unmistakable. He knew he looked terrible from his work that day, but he did not care anymore. However, he stopped short from approaching her.

Erynlith was clutching her right wrist. What made the warrior stop was the sound of her silent sobs. He could see tears coming from the corners of her eyes, and he was instantly alarmed.

"Eryn…" He called out softly, taking the seat beside her.

She quickly dabbed the tears away and smiled. "Hi. You are scruffy, Glorfindel. You need a bath right away."

He smiled but then turned serious. "Are you alright? Why do you cry? Are you hurt anywhere?"

His eyes fell on her right wrist. He had never noticed that it was covered in bandages, though there was a small patch on the side that was grey. With thousand year's worth of experience, he knew that kind of injury was deep and hurtful, and he wondered how she never told him.

"Oh, don't mind me," Erynlith murmured. "It doesn't hurt." But it was not so. Whenever _Hithui_ turned up, her old wrist wound ached. It was always the scenario every year, and whenever that happened, she secluded herself from everyone else, especially from Erestor's eyes. She did not want to worry him of a little aching wound.

"Are you sure?" Glorfindel furrowed his brows. "Should we ask for Lord Elrond's assistance?"

"No!" She immediately stood up. "No, I am fine, really. Let us go back into the house. We are having hazelnut soup for dinner, tra-lil-lay. But before that, get yourself cleaned up. Elrond will not appreciate such a scruffy captain at his table."

Glorfindel sniffed himself comically, earning a laugh from his friend. "Hm, I _do_ kind of smell. I will have to take a bath. Will you wait for me before proceeding into the dining halls?"

"Then let's go!" Erynlith grasped his hand and bounded towards the main residence.

They reached Glorfindel's grand chambers soon, and the golden elf quickly discarded his sweaty tunic and disappeared into the bathroom. Elrond had included a small bathing chambers within the spacious room, making it clear that Glorfindel was indeed an important elf in Rivendell, if not the most important.

While splashes of water were heard in the bathroom, Erynlith sat on the edge of the bed, reminiscing the day when she acquired the wound on her wrist. She was a thousand years younger and traveled with Erestor back then. They were ambushed by orcs and wargs in the High Pass, and all their traveling companions. Saving an unconscious Erestor, her arm was pierced by an arrow and she forcefully broke it, leaving shards embedded within her flesh.

She winced at the growing pain in her right wrist, gently holding and praying that it would end soon. To keep herself from the pain, she looked around the luxurious room. It was really enormous and tidy; it made her feel bad for having such a disheveled room compared to this. Glorfindel kept few things except for his clothes and some books that Erestor lent him. The fireplace was covered with a thin metal plate.

"I am done," Glorfindel announced as he stepped out of his bathing chambers, already clad in a blue robe. His hands were toweling his long golden hair as he walked towards her. "Are you alright?"

"No, I am hungry," Erynlith whined and tapped her belly. Her friend only laughed. She rolled her eyes and grabbed a nearby brush. "Come here. You need to learn how to do things faster, Captain."

Glorfindel sat on the floor whilst Erynlith was on the edge of the bed. He sat between her legs as she began combing his long tresses. "It has been too long since someone brushed my hair for me," he murmured.

"You let others brush your hair?" She asked incredulously.

He chuckled. "Sometimes… when I feel like it. No one seems to care anymore anyway."

"I care," Erynlith said. Suddenly, the brush was tangled with the hair and Glorfindel jerked up.

"Ow, that hurts! Be gentle!" he cried, soothing his aching scalp.

"I am _so_ sorry!" She tossed the brush aside and kissed the aching spot. "There! You look great now! Let's go! We cannot let Lindir and the others win the hazelnut soup!"

The two elves raced towards the dining halls and greeted Elrond and his family. Glorfindel and Erynlith sat side by side, and Erestor sat on her left. The first part of the dinner was nothing but some of Elrond's musings, like asking his sons on how their day went and so on. An hour had gone by and everyone was ready to leave but Elrond asked for their attentions once again, and the elves on the table were obliged to listen.

"As you all may know, _Aduial en Meleth_ will be upon us in three days," Elrond began, examining everyone's reactions.

Glorfindel blinked and whispered to Erynlith, _"Aduial en Meleth?"_

"Evening of romance," she translated, the words leaving a bad taste in her mouth. "It is a custom for us Sindarin Elves, tra-lo. Lórinand and Greenwood celebrate it due to their kings being Sindar, and Celebrían and I are Sindar as well, so we celebrate it. The others seem to like it, tri-lil-lolly."

"Sounds interesting," Glorfindel commented.

"It is not." She pouted. "Believe me."

His brows furrowed, looking innocent. "Why not? Is it only for couples to enjoy?"

"Well, not really," Erynlith admitted. "It can be enjoyed by Elves who like the idea of courtship."

"It still sounds interesting to me."

She laughed, not caring if Elrond continued to brief the other elves about their plans this year. "If you will attend, you can find yourself a partner to spend the night with, tra-la. I am not really good at socializing. Perhaps I will stay with Erestor then. We both do not enjoy festivities."

Glorfindel frowned. "This is my first _Aduial en Meleth_ in Middle-earth. Someone might as well show me how things work. You cannot leave me looking all awkward in the event, Eryn. Why not spend it with me?"

"We'll see…"

* * *

*_Hithui_ \- November

**Next Chapter Preview:** Things heat up at the eve of _Aduial en Meleth,_ especially when an angry Erestor is in tow.

**Author's Notes:** Hello, everyone! Sorry for the rather late update; you guys know how school could always get in the way.

Moving on! Hurray for more Thranduil! I really missed writing our dearest Elvenking! So, following his appearance last chapter, I am adding him here, and accompanied by Celairis of course. The Elves' celebration of romance is coming! Any suggestions? Do I see a hand raised for Erynlith and Glorfindel?! XD

*Legolas's Fried Potato - Don't worry, my friend, we''ll get there! Now then... May I have a fried potato from Legolas?

***Eirithdiel** \- Eryn's tra-las and tra-los are usually out of whim, or rather, her whims. She always speaks in cheerful singsongs, so I guess adding tra-las and tra-los depict her vivacious personality. I think we all love Glorfy here! Indeed, I've seen some fics with him paired with Erestor. If Eryn somehow ends up with Thrandy, is it possible that Glorfy could end up with Erestor? Imagine that! XD

***GreedyBunneh** \- Ooh, I think we already have a solid Eryn/Glorfy fan here!

***StrawberryObsession** \- Imagining Thranduil making flower crowns makes me feel all fuzzy inside! The previous chapter showed that no one should really push his/her luck with Thranduil, our badass Elvenking. And woah! Good observation; it has been a while someone has caught up with the interaction between characters. Yes, Glorfy really needs to be independent, and Eryn makes sure he does. But given her tolerance to everyone, I am not sure she could keep up the act for a long time. I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as you enjoyed the previous one!

***only-one-mirkwood-princess** \- But of course! If it's you, I'll definitely share Glorfindel! With bonus daisy flower crowns, too!

***Asmodeus Black** \- Yeah, Thrandy's back in the game! For now...

***Rosiethehobbit17** \- I researched about the fourth beach in Clifton, and I must say, it looks so beautiful! What I'd give to be able to visit the place! Question though: why is it crowded in December? I thought summer was the peak season for tourists, or is it because of the temperature there?

Oh, I am sure Glorfindel would have his fair share of attention, but if Thrandy travels to Rivendell and claims Eryn, then the game is finished for him! *hugs Glorfindel* But don't worry, Glorfy! You have lots of love coming from your fans!

***ScarlettRunsRed** \- Hello, it is very nice to meet you! Your theory is plausible, but we'll see... Thank you for reading and taking time to review!

***Evangeline Pond** \- Aww, don't worry! Feel free to ship whoever you want! I know that feeling, especially when you watch lots of shows. Thank you for the review!

***rosegold1996** \- Oh, my... I would make this a Thrandy/Eryn story to save a table from being flipped out! I love your contrasting of light and dark, and then associating them with the characters! Bravissimo! (*•̀ᴗ•́*)و ̑̑

***DeLacus** \- From all the reviews I read, you're the only one to feel sorry for Celairis, which is not a bad thing. After a while, I did feel kinda sorry for her. But Thrandyyyy~ Yes, he has been absent for a while now. Guess we'll be seeing Thrandy/Celairis and Eryn/Glorfy for the time being...

***Rousdower** \- ROUSSSYY! Where have you been? I am glad you're feeling alright now! You must have had a lot of feels from the fanfics you're reading, is that it? XD Yes, Glorfeeee~ Our baby Glorfy needs youuu!

***Guest** \- Thank you very much! That's very kind of you. I'll do my best!

Okay! Thank you for everyone who has recently favourited or followed the story! I hope you are having a good time! I noticed that we just passed the 200 reviews mark. Thank you very, very much for everyone who reviewed since the beginning and to those who are new. It's always nice to meet new people, tra-la! Now, for the upcoming chapters, I suppose it would have more conflicts between Glorfindel/Erynlith and Thranduil/Celairis.

Once again, I sincerely thank everyone!


	39. Misunderstanding

**Chapter 39**

_**Misunderstanding**_

* * *

_The fiery chasm stood before him, a whip of fire in its terrible hands. A wicked grin played across the fiery face of the demon, and the golden elf stood there, motionless. He could not turn, he could not scream in his growing fear. He could only watch as the demon slowly made its way towards him, raising his whip ever higher. He loomed before the stricken golden elf, twice as tall as he was. But he was no elf; it was indeed a demon of might. It took delight in the screams of terrified elves, and it wanted more. It always wanted more. Desperate calls rang in his ear, and the golden elf flinched, realizing that he was about to lead his people to safety. But he had to face his fiery demon. Something ignited within him, and he raised his sword, bearing a determined look equal to the demon. And the fight commenced; the cries of his people were his motivation to defeat the enemy, but as powerful as he was, the demon was stronger. He was able to draw blood from the fiery demon and it howled a terrible cry that echoed in his mind. The demon fell towards the cliff, and the golden elf thought his victory was ensured. But it did not end there: the demon pulled him back, entangling its claws on his golden hair, and pulled him with it, down into the shadows. He let out a fearful shout and closed his eyes. He prepared himself for the darkness, for the pain that was promised as he fell, and he could only hear the demon laughing wicked, laughing at their promised death._

Glorfindel screamed into the night. Unsteady blue eyes scanned the dark room, preparing himself for the enemies that might come. For a moment, he was confused; heart pounding within his chest, sweat dripping from his forehead. He was shaking and he yearned for someone to hold him. But he was alone, just like that fateful day. He pulled the blanket over his head, shaking and sobbing at the nightmare. He needed someone to hold him. _Get it together_, he reminded himself as the tears fell from his eyes. No, he would not close his eyes again. If he did, he was sure to see the demon laughing again at his death.

* * *

"Lord Glorfindel," Erestor called out to the golden elf who sat across the table. It was supposed to be breakfast, but Erynlith and the others were already done with theirs, and Erestor was the only one to eat his. Luckily, Glorfindel had just risen up and sat with him on the table. "Are you alright? You seem to have had a bad night," he commented, taking notice of the other elf's puffy eyes and dismantled look.

"Yes," Glorfindel answered weakly and took little bite from his bread. "Is Eryn around?"

Erestor narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "She went out riding with Elladan and Elrohir. She should be back soon. Why?"

"Nothing in particular." The warrior shrugged and stood up, not bothering to excuse himself politely like he always did.

_Odd_, Erestor thought and went back to his cold breakfast.

In the gardens, Glorfindel waited at the usual bench where Erynlith sat when she waited for him from the barracks. He kept his thoughts to himself, trying to get himself together before she arrived. She would surely notice his overall look, how his tunic was wrinkled and his hair not yet braided. When he got out from the bed that morning, he could not rid of the puffy eyes from his sobs last night. He had been in Rivendell for months but never did he spend a night sleeping. It seemed to concern Elrond and Celebrían in a way, but the elf lord and his wife did not want to pry too much.

The neighing of horses snapped Glorfindel back to reality. He looked up expectantly, his eyes reaching the area where the horses were reared and dismounted. Three elves were laughing together as the guards offered to take their horses away. Glorfindel sighed in relief; Erynlith was there with Elladan and Elrohir. He wasted no more time; he quickly got into his feet and approached her.

"Ah, good morning, Glorfindel, tra-la-la," she sang cheerfully. "Have you eaten your breakfast?"

He did not answer. Instead, he pulled her good wrist and she followed. Elladan and Elrohir blinked at the suddenness of the captain, but decided to shrug it off.

"I think Lord Glorfindel is going to propose soon." Elrohir laughed as he and his brother marched to the main house.

"Aye, but Glorfindel will get a good scolding from Erestor first," added Elladan, snickering.

"It would be nice though," Elrohir mused. "I mean, Erfaron was never affectionate to others that much. Lord Glorfindel might be a good start." And the conversation continued until they reached the house and eventually greeted their parents and younger sister.

Back in the gardens, Glorfindel slumped back into the bench and sighed deeply. He was still holding Erynlith's hand, too tightly for her comfort, but she chose not to mention it. There was something written on Glorfindel's face that she could not interpret. Was it fear? Did his nightmares return again? Whenever he turned to her for comfort, mostly in the night, she would only give him words of encouragement. Little did she know that her words did not help him at all. No words could have scared the demon inside him. Erynlith placed her hand on top of him and squeezed, prompting him to look into her grey eyes.

"Are they back again?" She asked, carefully choosing her words.

"It was terrible," Glorfindel whispered.

She tried to smile although knowing it would not help. "I am here, Glorfindel. Talk to me. Do you want me to stay with you tonight?" She knew it was impossible for them to do so, especially when _Aduial en Meleth_ was approaching; the other elves might think of something else, something far scandalous. But she would do anything to stop Glorfindel from shaking; he was not supposed to be like this. He was supposed the battle-ready Captain of Rivendell, who could single-handedly disembowel orcs and ride bridle-less horses. He was supposed to be mighty and stern and disciplined, not this trembling and sobbing elf beside her.

Glorfindel looked into her eyes. He looked somewhat hopeful at that offered, and he was willing to comply easily. But did she mean her words? There was doubt in him, and he searched for signs of doubt in her too. There was none; he could hardly believe it. When he nodded, Erynlith smiled and squeezed their hands together again.

"It will be alright, Glorfindel, tra-la," she assured again, and Glorfindel kissed her brow in thanks.

* * *

The moment Erynlith told Erestor her plan on staying in Glorfindel's chambers for the night, his dark eyes widened in disbelief. All of a sudden, he was furious and marched right into the grand bedchambers of Glorfindel to confront him. Everyone followed the furious counselor into the long passageway, including a worried Celebrían and Elrond, and a pair of amused brothers. Erestor, despite Erynlith's pleads, flung to large double doors open and found a surprised Glorfindel.

"Who do you think you are?!" Erestor roared as he grabbed Glorfindel by his collar. He was gritting his teeth. Years of being a warrior made him a terrifying opponent. And that claim sparked something in him, and everyone feared Erestor's wrath. There was always one thing to make him lose his patience, and that was anything concerning Erynlith.

Glorfindel only stared at the fuming elf in front of him.

"Do not think yourself too highly that you can claim Erynlith that fast!" Erestor shouted.

"Erestor, please!" Erynlith called out behind him. "This is not what you think it is! I am just trying to… Fine! Let's forget I said something to you, okay? Let him go." She got between them and pulled the glaring Erestor away. She spared an apologetic look at Glorfindel as she shut the doors behind her, taking Erestor and the other curious elves away from the scene.

No one could blame Erestor's action, certainly not Lord Elrond. It was already too long that he had almost forgotten that Erestor raised Erynlith as his daughter, and came to treat her like a sister now. If Elrond encountered someone who would claim Arwen, he would definitely be furious about it as well. There was no one to blame in the incident, but he felt sorry for the golden elf to face the wrath of Erestor too soon.

When Erynlith and Erestor were back into her chambers, she glared at him and sighed exasperatedly.

"Really, Erestor! What are you thinking? Do you think is a petty romantic stuff?! Do not make _Aduial en Meleth_ an excuse! You know nothing about why I want to spend the night there, and it involves none of your wild imaginations!" She admonished him. Not only did Erestor confront Glorfindel in his own chambers, but he also insulted and shouted at him.

"I am sorry…" Erestor said obligingly. Then, he huffed and crossed his arms, still not letting go of his pride. "But not _entirely_ sorry. I wanted to give him a piece of my mind as well. He seems to claim you every single day for himself. And I am worried that you…"

"What?" She challenged, preparing herself for the answer.

"I am worried that you might pledge yourself to him," Erestor admitted in a quiet voice. It was shameful to think of such a way, already being too possessive on his own right. He sighed deeply and murmured again: "I am sorry, Eryn. I do not wish to lose you any sooner, but I cannot deny that Glorfindel would suit you…"

"Erestor, please." Erynlith crossed the room and embraced him. "I will not pledge myself to anyone. Not yet, I think." She laughed and kissed his cheek. "I will torment you for a couple of hundred years more, tra-lo."

"Oh, really?" He simpered. "I thought you are only waiting for a certain Elvenking to court you."

Instantly, she flinched and turned away from him. No one had ever really mentioned that before. She thought everyone had forgotten about her complicated relation to him. Indeed, there was care and love and protectiveness between them, but they did not speak anymore since she left Greenwood. She had only heard from Amroth that Thranduil was now an Elvenking in the northern part of the forest. She guessed Thranduil was not interested in her anymore, and had probably found someone to spend his life with. And she would have to move on.

"Non-sense," she finally answered. "It has been a thousand years since I last saw him, tra-lay. I am sure the palace attendants are already watching over mischievous little elflings…"

"I wouldn't count on that," Erestor said regretfully. He shouldn't have mentioned Thranduil to her. He knew well that Erynlith did not entertain others during _Aduial en Meleth_ because she was still hoping; one day maybe, that Thranduil would finally visit Rivendell and see her. But he never came, not even send a message.

"Promise me you would apologize to Glorfindel."

He sighed and nodded. "Very well."

"Anyway," Erynlith shifted the conversation elsewhere. "Can I spend the night in Glorfindel's room?"

As quickly as the words fell from her mouth, Erestor crossed his arms and glared. "No, you can't."

* * *

The golden forest was vast and cold.

As he looked behind, King Thranduil saw the Nandorian Elves of Lórinand assist each other in the hanging of the blue lanterns—the last preparation for the upcoming _Aduial en Meleth_. Earlier that day, King Amroth oversaw the progress in the kitchen and courtyard, while Thranduil isolated himself within his bedchambers. Snow had not fallen yet, but the weather was enough to make his words steam in the cold air.

Tonight, he wanted nothing to do with the preparations. He only wanted to see Lórinand. Standing beside the river Nimrodel had always sat on, Thranduil imagined how beautiful the river would be whilst frozen in ice. The sudden gust of cold air made him recoil in his thick robes; though Elves were not often subjected to chill or disease, as mortal Men were, Thranduil sometimes felt he could get sick. Raithon had always laughed it off; Santien would only grumble and shoo him away from the infirmary.

He really needed to get back to Greenwood.

His robes swept the damp earth, as he turned back towards the white fortress. Some of the Marchwardens greeted. He caught glimpse of the flock of minstrels huddled in the corner, practicing songs with their flutes, harps, and lutes. Thranduil ignored all of them. He went straight to a particular chamber, did not bother knocking on the door, and settled himself comfortably beside the ignited hearth.

Celairis glanced up from her blotched parchment, and smiled.

"I missed you at dinner," the King complained.

"_You_ did?" She laughed and switched from one parchment to another. Her eyes quickly scanned the contents of the letter, before dipping her quill and writing something in reply. When it was done, she took another paper, read it again, signed, and set it aside.

Thranduil watched her with lazy eyes. "What are you even doing?"

Again, the counselor looked up, and then buried her nose back into her papers. "Reports, my King," she answered, writing again. "Haldamir sent a new report from Greenwood; has something to do with their _Aduial en Meleth_ preparations." According to her fellow counselor, the Silvan folk were requesting for more wine and food for the event, and to celebrate it _outside_ the fortress. Celairis knew the King would immediately disagree, fearing the evil slowly lurking in their forest. As a Silvan herself, she would want to spend the night outdoors, but the King would surely hear none of it.

"Why do they have to worry about that?" Thranduil stretched his aching arms and legs, and settled on the couch. "I left Raithon in charge, as always. They could have all the wine they want, just make sure no troubles would happen afterwards." He sighed. "You know Raithon lets everyone do whatever they want."

"As always, my King." Celairis laughed once more.

When silence followed, Thranduil could not help but just watch his Chief Counselor do her duties. She was scribbling again, reading without her lips moving, and reaching over for more papers. She had been a very industrious counselor these past thousand years, and for once, Thranduil thought of thanking her. But he did not know how. Then, he saw a lovely lavender dress hanging by the wardrobe. It was a high-collared silk gown, with dozens of small pearls sewed on the skirt's hem, and a matching golden necklace sat on the round table nearby.

"Where did you get that?"

Celairis's eyes darted to where his finger was pointing. "A gift from King Amroth," she answered. "For tomorrow's celebration. He said the fabric was too wide, that he had it cut into two dresses. He gave one to me."

The King yawned, uninterested. "I suppose he gave the other half to Nimrodel?"

"I am afraid not, my King," Celairis whispered warily. "He sent it somewhere else."

* * *

**Next Chapter:** _Aduial en Meleth_ is here!

**Author's Notes:** Phew! Sorry for the delay in update! My dad arrived for a five-day vacation, so I was really busy. We watched a lot of movies and stuff. Yeah.

Okay, I think lots of people are anticipating the romance celebration. The draft has been prepared for a very long time now. If you want to suggest something, maybe something you are really rooting to happen (except Thranduil fabulously marching to Rivendell, probably), just tell me and maybe I could find a way to add it.

For this chapter, I guess it explored Eryn and Erestor's relationship a little more, and Eryn's take on her relationship with Thrandy. We've seen Thrandy sulk about it, but Eryn's been so busy with Glorfindel that she did not even had a time to stop and think—until Erestor mentioned it, that is.

***Asmodeus Black** \- Oh, believe me! If I wasn't a Thranduil fan as well, this would have been entirely a Glorfindel fic. I was planning on focusing more on Eryn/Glorfy, which explains the "for now..." bit. And yay, tra-lay! You did it! You are finally joining the dark side! *evil laughter*

***Rosiethehobbit17** \- Silly me! I've forgotten where you actually are! I was thinking somewhere along the equator, but you are waaaaay in the south. I study tourism so it is nice to learn from someone who really lives there. As for my place, here in Spain at least, they have the best summer and the worst winter. My mom has skin allergy that gets worse during cold weather and gets better during summer. I guess we need to move somewhere else. LOL.

Yes, Thranduil is 98% drama and 2% lazy.

***only-one-mirkwood-princess** \- Celairis *grrrrr* but Glorfindel *hugs tightly*

***SparklesJustReads** \- I think Eryn would be happy with either Thrandy or Glorfy. She has a very flexible personality, and could cope with anyone's attitude. But the question is, would Thrandy/Glorfy be happy with or without her? Anyway, thanks for the review!

***Evangeline Pond** \- You may be the first solid Eryn/Glorfy _and_ Thrandy/Celairis shipper! That's a surprise! Keep it up, girl~!

***Eirithdiel** \- Oooh, yes! Our handsome warrior ending up with a lady! How I love that idea! Would Eryn be fine for him, or someone else?

***llcyyxx** \- MUAHAHAHAHA! With that I will never get Thranduil to Rivendell! Never!

Nah, just kidding. I don't want to be mauled by the readers out there. LOL.

***Rousdower** \- ROUSSSYYY! *checks on notebook* Yep, you have just joined the Eryn/Glorfy ship. Thank you very much for your support, my dear. *wiggles with you*

***DeLacus** \- Goodness me! Thrandy does need an improvement. *writes that down* Glad to know you like Celairis (Sort of?) I especially do not want our beloved Elvenking spending his precious time with an elleth with no depth whatsoever. If a whore-like OC comes into this fic, I'll have Raithon immediately throw her out of the window. XD

***Guest** \- I was on my phone when I read your review and I literally laughed. My sister had to ask me what was so funny. I never thought of linking the term "shipping" to Valinor! Your comment is one of the most precious. Thank you for stopping by. I am glad you're enjoying the story!

***May East** \- Welcome here! Yes, I think Glorfindel still remains bewildered why he was sent back to Middle-earth. And you'll have plenty of chapters to enjoy shipping him with Eryn. Thank you!

***StrawberryObsession** \- Better late than never, indeed. Hope you've had a good time on your holiday.

You should really try to sing him a lullaby. I am sure Glorfindel wouldn't mind your tone (or anyone else's, in fact). Erestor could be trouble sometimes; his territorial attitude towards Eryn has somewhat increased over the years. A very clingy brother if you ask me. *shrugs* But, just like you said, Eryn does not see it that way. Her optimism and love for him blinds her of his true nature, like how she puts up with Thrandy's temper issues before. As for her reluctancy to celebrate the event, remember that Nimrodel was taken by orcs and Eryn had to rescue her. Both of them were bloodied and bruised. And yes, because Caladhir also died that night.

Your long review is very impressive. Are you always this an excellent observer when reading? I admit that I could not distinguish a character's development or flaws in the book, but you have it just right! I hope I am as good as you are. Keep it up, and thanks for the review~!

**P.S.** Thank you for everyone who has read this chapter! Hold on to your seats. _Aduial en Meleth_ is coming next chapter! Don't forget to let me know your opinions or suggestions, so that I may edit the draft and include some of your suggestions.

Enjoy your day! （〜^∇^)〜


	40. Aduial en Meleth II

**Chapter 40**

_**Aduial en Meleth II**_

* * *

Thranduil watched his counselor with eager eyes. It was the night Celairis had been waiting for, and he was kind enough to listen to her wishes. Though he did not enjoy festivities that much now, seeing other elves enjoy the night entertained him. And the dark beauty that was approaching him made the night more interesting. Celairis's dark hair was braided and adorned with little yellow flowers. She wore the lavender dress she received as gift from King Amroth. Her pale skin glistened in the moonlight. She was a beauty, and Thranduil prided himself for having her as a counselor. Perhaps she would not just be a counselor when the night ended.

"You look stunning," the Elvenking said truthfully as he took her hand and kissed it. "I knew staying here for the evening was a good idea."

Celairis laughed good-naturedly. "If I remember, I was the one who persuaded you in staying here."

His smile turned devious as his arm snaked around her waist. "No one can persuade me better than you, counselor mine. Shall we dance? You are quite the dancer back in Greenwood." He held his counselor in place and began to dance with her.

"Flattery does not suit you, my King," Celairis answered as she allowed herself to be gracefully turned around. "For one thing, it should always be your counselors and guards who should flatter _you_."

"Ah, that is a good idea." He chuckled. "Since you are my counselor, try flattering me instead."

She paused for a while, thinking, and then said: "You look rather handsome tonight, my King." She suppressed a laugh coming.

Thranduil smiled innocently. "Why, yes, I am quite handsome. Thank you for noticing."

Laughter filled the dance floor as they continued to move to and fro. Amroth and Nimrodel were dancing on the other side, and on the other were Galadriel and Celeborn. The music was festive and loud; other Silvan elves cheered and sang into the night. Though a night of celebration, not everyone was celebrating. A group of marchwardens, led by a new golden-haired captain, watched the borders with keen blue eyes. He had heard how an evening of romance turned into a bloody festival when orcs came down from the mountains. And he clutched his bow ever tighter. The story of Erfaron's rescue of Nimrodel was great among the wardens.

* * *

Erestor sighed for the umpteenth time. Here he was, seated among Elrond, Celebrían and their children, and Gildor, as the annual event was taking place. Elves, male and female, were ready striding into the wide dance floor to dance. Lindir and his minstrels led the music. Soon, Elrond invited his lady onto the dance floor, and next were followed by Arwen being invited by both of her brothers. It was heartwarming to see such a warm familial display, and Erestor watched them. However, he felt incomplete on that particular night, and he wished he had someone to share a familial dance with.

He knew Erynlith was with Glorfindel. Since when did she even unlatch herself from the elf ever since he arrived, anyway? She made it clear that her concern and care for Glorfindel was something that was friendly, and Erestor wanted to believe her. But the actions they were showing to each other were _far_ from being friendly. Erynlith would always wait for Glorfindel after his daily duty from the barracks. Sometimes, Erestor would find her wiping away the sweat from his forehead, and Glorfindel would lovingly smile at her. There were also times when they would talk together in the gardens. Whatever happened the night when Glorfindel screamed, he did not know. But like the brother that he was, there was doubt in him. What if Erynlith hoped too much again? If Glorfindel found someone else, he could leave Erynlith, just like what a certain Elvenking did.

"Shall we dance, Lord Erestor?" A lovely maiden offered a shy smile.

Erestor quickly complied and took her hand, guiding her towards the occupied dance floor.

Elsewhere, Glorfindel was more than ready to celebrate the evening. He was given elegant robes to wear for that particular night, and he had already clad himself in it. The brocade, though heavy, was red and trimmed with gold. The robe fell about his knees where the dark trousers could already be seen. He wore dark boots and his hair was combed back simply. He did not wish to be so overdressed, especially when it was his first time to celebrate. However, he was still in his room, looking over and over again at his reflection.

"Do I look alright?" He asked himself again. He wanted to look good, of course, but he wanted Erynlith to see him first in that elegant maroon brocade. With a final glance, he breathed sharply and strode out his room.

_Where could she be?_ The question lingered in his mind. Erynlith told him that she would not be in a courtyard right away, and that she would wait for him. _But where?_ Glorfindel was too stubborn to ask for other elves; he really wanted to show himself to Erynlith first.

As he passed the entrance bridge leading to the valley, he stopped short and narrowed his eyes. At a distance, he could see Erynlith sitting on the bridge, her legs dangling on the ledge. She was leaning on her arms and seemed to be watching the stars. He smoothed his brocade before approaching her.

"Eryn," he called out, almost in a whisper. "What are you doing here?"

She looked up to him and smiled. "You look very handsome, Glorfindel. Maroon suits you well, tra-la-la…"

"It was Gildor's idea," Glorfindel answered politely and sat beside her. He noticed the weapons settled on the other side. He gave her a confused look. "I thought we are supposed to celebrate together. What are you doing here with a bow and quiver?"

"Oh, this?" Erynlith glanced at her prepared weapons and shrugged. "Don't mind me. It is probably just a product of experience, nothing else. How about you? Do you want to celebrate?"

"I would if you would go…" Glorfindel reluctantly said.

Erynlith laughed and abandoned her position from the bridge. She took her bow and quiver, and dusted off her trousers. "Let us go then. I am sure nothing much happened. The night is young. More things are surely to come, tra-la." As Glorfindel smiled and followed, she turned to him. "Do you dance? Because I really don't… If you want a dancing partner, you can ask for Celebrían or Arwen. They are Rivendell's best, tra-lo."

"That is fine." He shook his head. "I would rather spend the night sitting on a chair than spend it dancing with someone else, tra-lay."

"Oh, before I forget." She took his hand and dashed with him back to her own bedchambers. "I couldn't appear wearing these. Lord Elrond would scold me, tra-la."

Erynlith immediately went in, while Glorfindel leaned his back against the doorway, his arms across his chest. He heard a light shuffling of fabric, thuds of light footing, and a muttered curse. He fought the urge to look behind and peer at her, afraid he would see something inappropriate.

"Are you okay back there?"

"Don't look, Glorfindel, tra-la." Erynlith finished donning her new dress, and spun in front of the mirror to get a better look. She thought it was so sweet of her cousin to send her a new dress, especially for the celebration. The lavender silk was smooth upon her bare skin; its sleeves flowed past her hands. What made her uncomfortable was the low neckline. If she ever bent down, her chest would surely be exposed. Hiding it with her hair was the simplest solution.

When Glorfindel finally saw her, he was confused for a moment. He had seen Erynlith in dozens of dresses before, mostly in a tunic and breeches and leather boots. Tonight, she looked more like a lady than the minstrel that she was. From the hem of the low neckline to her abdomen, small white pearls were sown. Golden embroidery made little swirls across her bosom. She was truly a beautiful sight to behold—except that her thick umber hair was covering most of her neck and shoulders.

"Oh, Eryn." The tall warrior sighed and approached. He stood behind her and pushed back the hair, much to the minstrel's immediate discomfort.

"Glorfindel, no!" Erynlith recoiled from him and covered her exposed skin with her hair again.

"It doesn't work that way," he argued, his voice ever soft. "Here, let me fix it. You do not have to cover it. You look absolutely beautiful. Now come."

She fervently shook her head. "No, no, no."

Glorfindel left and later returned with a golden ribbon. "At least tie your hair with this. You don't need to hide anything, especially from me."

After a moment of silence and awkward staring, Erynlith finally gave in and turned her back to the grinning warrior. She let him pull her hair into a half-hearted ponytail, with the unbound half falling in loose curls around her shoulders. She straightened herself and faced him with a smile.

"There. Absolutely beautiful," Glorfindel beamed and kissed her forehead.

* * *

Thranduil stared at the wine glass thrust into his hands by the Lórinand Elvenking. Amroth was incredibly psyched up that particular eve, calling a drinking game and Thranduil was forced into it. Barrels of wine were delivered and opened at the King's banquet halls, while the other elves were dancing outside. They were the only two drinking there, and Amroth was laughing in his drunken stupor.

"Drink, drink!" He laughed and raised his glass. "More wine for you, Thranduil!"

"I have no time for this." Thranduil groaned, but sipped from his cup nonetheless. "What is this drinking game for? Can you not invite Celeborn instead?"

"Oh, do shut up." Amroth snorted. "When the celebration ends, you will surely return to your palace and will not be seen for another thousand years. Goodness, Thranduil! What even keeps you inside?"

"We have discussed this countless times before." The other King was convinced that his friend was indeed very drunk. Perhaps he should already call on Nimrodel or the other butlers to take their drunken Elvenking away. Quietly, he sipped his wine again. He could never get tired of such exquisite taste.

More wine filled their systems. Amroth kept on urging Thranduil to drink, and drink they did until Thranduil himself felt the lightness of head. He was a well-known heavy drinker in Greenwood, but he seemed to have exceeded his limit tonight. He clutched his head lightly, trying to pull himself together, as another glass was thrust into his hand. He drank it profusely, as if very thirsty, and finished it in one sitting. His fair face flushed red, and his vision began to blur; Amroth's voice was keeping him awake from the stupor. The King of Lórinand laughed heartily and drank his wine as well; the absence of guards and butlers made them drink to their heart's content.

"So!" Amroth barked, his head already swirling from the lightness. "Erynlith… Erynlith… Don't you want to see her? I am sure she thinks of you tonight, Thranduil!" Then, he burst out laughing.

"Does it matter?" Thranduil shook his head, closing his eyes forcefully to regain consciousness. His great aversion on talking about Erynlith was betrayed by the swirling of his head, his mind could not think properly. He propped his chin at the heel of his palm, blue eyes staring lazily at his friend. "Erynlith?" He repeated in confusion, as though not hearing the name for too long. Suddenly, the smug look on his face became somber, and he gradually frowned upon remembering to whom the name belonged to. "_Erfaron_… oh, I remember. She does not deserve me. I have hurt her too much… We have moved on. I have Celairis, though I will not regret that sometimes… I wish Celairis was Erynlith instead."

Amroth looked at his friend with sleepy eyes. "Do you what I think? I think that you're… only seeing your counselor as the next closest person to Eryn. You always keep her around, but she would never live up to Eryn." He shook his head wistfully. "Never."

"No. Forget it." Thranduil answered, fighting back the stinging pain in his head. He stood up, swaying on his feet as he held on to a nearby pillar. "I will retire to my chambers now."

Without consent from Amroth, he began his way towards the platform's staircase—clutching the railings too tight—to keep himself falling from the deadly height. He almost tumbled on his long silvery robe, teeth gritting in frustration. He shouldn't have allowed Amroth coax him into that pathetic drinking game. He was aware that he smelled of liquor now, and he worried that Celairis would not appreciate it. At the last step of the stairs, he finally succumbed to stupor and fell. But someone caught him, balancing him in the arms as he looked up, blue eyes staring unsteadily at the figure in front of him.

"Eryn…?" He mumbled, the vision coming in a blur.

"No, it's _me_." A sad voice answered.

"Celairis?" Thranduil asked in disbelief and quickly straightened himself, pretending to dust off his robes. He cleared his throat and met her disappointed look. Like the King that he was, he shrugged it off and walked past her, acting as if nothing happened.

And Celairis's bright eyes followed him, none too pleased that she was mistaken for someone that was supposed to be forgotten long ago.

* * *

Glorfindel smiled happily at the dancing elves in the courtyard. Though he was sitting on a chair beside a yawning Erynlith, he enjoyed the festive music and energetic elves. He laughed at the sight of Erestor dancing with several maidens at a time; the counselor was too modest to turn them all down. His eyes feasted on other sights; Elladan and Elrohir were arguing on who should dance with Arwen next. Whenever another elf would ask for Arwen, the brothers would only glare, eventually scaring all the other suitors. Some maidens walked to Glorfindel, shyly asking for a dance, but he politely smiled and turned them down. And when they would leave him, he would glance at his friend, who was still keeping to herself.

"Are you going to stare at me all night? Because it will not work. If you have something to say, say it." Erynlith sighed and yawned, teary eyes looking at the golden elf. Her bow and quiver were stuffed beneath her chair, and on the small round table beside had her untouched plate of vegetables and cup of wine.

He laughed. "I was contemplating whether to ask you for a dance or not, but you seem more interested in watching and yawning."

"That's funny," she retorted, earning another laugh from the golden elf.

Glorfindel paused for a moment. "I am planning to dance, if you'd care to join me, my lady."

Erynlith smiled and took the offered hand. She and Glorfindel joined the dancing elves, and the captain proceeded to put his hands on place. He knew various kinds of dances both in his old life, in the White Shores, and some in Middle-earth that Gildor taught him prior to the evening. One hand coiled around his partner's waist, the other on her hand. He began to move in slow movements, trying to make his partner comfortable.

The warrior laughed openly at her, and she arched an eyebrow in questioning.

"You've never danced before?"

"I _sing_, Dear Captain, not dance." Erynlith sighed exasperatedly, trying to keep up with his feet. Her long skirts were hindering her movements, and her hands clutched tightly to avoid outbalance. "Could we sit now?"

"Not until later." He smiled. "Come on, you can do it. If I can sleep at night, you can dance." His partner gave him a displeased look. "Here, follow my lead. Step right, and then left… No, I said _left_! Ow!"

Erynlith stepped on his foot, and Glorfindel's cry was heard by the other elves.

"Oh, I am so sorry!" She quickly apologized, looking down at his stepped foot.

"All is well," he assured and took her hands again. "Now, let us start again. Follow my footsteps. It is just an alternate between right and left." He laughed as his partner looked down on their feet. He lifted her chin with one finger, a gentle demand to look into his eyes. "In dancing," he began his lesson again, "partners should look at each other."

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, I got it."

And soon, they were dancing. She had come to get used to his slow rhythm, eyes locked against each other. Glorfindel twirled her according to the flow of the music. When Erynlith's eyes caught glimpse of Erestor, she began beaming at him.

"Erestor, look! I am _dancing_!"

Her brother laughed heartily as he danced with another maiden. "Congratulations, Eryn."

Across the courtyard, Lindir settled the golden harp on his lap and whispered something to his fellow minstrels. Some of the maidens giggled, as the young dark-haired minstrel only winked and proceeded to lead the group. It was a slow ballad, a romantic theme Lindir had been preparing for tonight's event.

Glorfindel was enjoying the pleasant melody. Looking down at his partner, he saw her eyes immensely focused on his chest, as her feet were still trying to catch up. Acting on impulse, Glorfindel's finger went down to her chin, slowly making her look at his eyes. Erynlith smiled softly at him. It made him feel something else—like something burning from within.

Eyes still locked, Glorfindel began to pull her closer. His forehead touched hers, his hand made its way at the back of her nape, his nose brushing against hers. He trembled at the close proximity, but when he looked at her, Erynlith showed no hint of disapproval. Encouraged now, Glorfindel leaned dangerously closer.

It was Erestor who noticed what was happening, not Erynlith herself.

Nodding at his current partner, the Chief Counselor excused himself and strode across the dance floor. In five quick strides, he was beside the pair, just before the golden-haired warrior could continue with his advances. Erestor tried to keep his calm, for his sister's sake.

"Hold it." Erestor feigned a smile to the warrior, who seemed awakened from his trance. He turned to Erynlith and said, "I think Lady Celebrían has something to tell you, Eryn. She absolutely loves your dress."

Erynlith looked down on her lavender dress and smiled at her brother. "Oh, of course! I shall tell her that Amroth gave it to me, tra-la."

"You should. Go ahead and tell her." Erestor was pleased to see her sprint off to the other direction, leaving him and the stunned warrior alone. As he looked beside him, he could see Glorfindel was still in daze. And so, he asked: "What was that back there?"

Glorfindel flinched, as though he did not notice Erestor's presence. "Dancing," he whispered carefully.

"Besides the all the dancing and the staring, Lord Seneschal?"

"Staring?"

"Ignorance does not appeal to you," Erestor whispered back, as his eyes watched Erynlith mingle with the other elves. "I have seen the way you look at her."

"Are there _other_ ways to look at her?" Glorfindel knew sarcasm would not work on the Chief Counselor.

Erestor narrowed his eyes and glared. Then, for a moment, he remembered what he promised before. He sighed. "Forgive me about what happened last night, when I assaulted you in your chambers. It was truly uncourteous of me, and I am asking for your forgiveness."

Glorfindel was taken aback. "There is nothing to forgive, Lord Counselor. I _think_ I understand now."

"Good." Erestor smiled mischievously, and began to walk away. Suddenly, he paused and turned back to the warrior. "Oh, and one more thing, Lord Seneschal, staring is quite rude. If you plan to make a move, then do so. You can't cross the sea merely by standing and staring at the water." And he left.

Later, everyone took turns in dancing one another. After Glorfindel, Erynlith was offered by both Elladan and Elrohir, who continued to brawl on who should dance with her first. After the brothers, Elrond had taken the dance floor with her, two old friends laughing as they danced; and the last dance for this year's _Aduial en Meleth_ was Erestor. She continued beaming on how she could dance now, grateful for Glorfindel's little guidance.

As for the golden lord, he was the only one allowed to dance Arwen, and he was careful on touching her. It was evident that her father and brothers adored her too much. And he had also danced with the other maidens who gathered their courage to ask him; one of them introduced herself as Firianath. His last dance was Lady Celebrían; her rich silver hair mingled with his golden locks.

Everything was well that night. No orc ambushes. No snatched elven-maiden in the middle of the night. And certainly no chasing of orc companies through the fields.

Whereas Rivendell was filled with laughter, there was an Elvenking who decided to brood for the rest of the evening.

* * *

_"You can't cross the sea merely by standing and staring at the water."_ \- Rabindranath Tagore

**Author's Notes:** YES! We finally have this one up! Firstly, I would like to apologize for the lack of humour, as was requested before. I was really busy this week (and would probably more busy in the next), so I didn't get the chance to edit the draft and add more funny scenes. Well, it did kind of show a little Eryn/Glorfy, for those who are already shipping them. Secondly, sorry for writing Thrandy being in his volatile mood as usual. You never know when his temper would burst. Lastly, I would not be able to update next week, being busy and all, so I hope this chapter's little fluff makes up for it! Also, brother of the year award for Erestor!

***only-one-mirkwood-princess** \- Ooh, from Spain to Argentina, with love! Sadly, I am not a 100% good in Spanish. My mother and I just moved here over a year ago. I could understand (and speak and write) some basics. And I am only teaching myself, so it could be difficult sometimes.

LOL. Yay for Eryn/Glorfy, I see. Too bad for Celairis though!

***Rosiethehobbit17** \- I am so glad you love Tourism! And that you are interested in Spain! If you'd like to make a paper about it, you could include its wonderful beaches and weather; and if you like history (like me), I suggest you make special mention of the historical architecture (palaces, churches, etc.) Studying tourism is the best! Though I've never heard of Robert Mugabe, I think a leader should put first what is good for the country, not for himself.

Yep, gotta love protective big brothers! I hope I have one!

***StrawberryObsession** \- Some of your comments are coming true! How do you do that?! Yes, Celairis is designed to be the politically savvy counselor, confident both in terms of beauty and brains, but a mention of Eryn takes it all away. As for Glorfindel, I think he needs to take a step back, unless he wants Erestor to come in between them again. Did the Eryn/Glorfy fluff jeopardize your Eryn/Thrandy ship? I am so sorry! At this point, I can't tell which ship is stronger and should sail.

For your question, I think most of the elves around them have forgotten all about the Eryn/Thrandy relationship. It has been a thousand years without seeing each other; only Erestor, Amroth and Celairis probably remember it. We know Amroth still ships both of them, but Erestor and Celairis? Not likely.

Thank you for another awesome review!

***DeLacus** \- Big brother Erestor for the win! His protectiveness is a force never to be dealt with! XD Speaking of Raithon, I do miss our favourite Captain of the Guards. Perhaps I'll have him included in the next chapters~!

***Asmodeus Black** \- The thought of Glorfy appreciating a pat on the head looks adorable! If he keeps his mind off of those dreams, he'll probably forget it. Thanks for the review! *gives you a cookie*

***May East** \- Because you ship Eryn/Glorfy harder now, this chapter is for you~! Don't worry, your heartbreak won't come any sooner. And I guess you're few of the people who does not hate Celairis now. XD

***Eirithdiel** \- Thranduil the playboy of Middle-earth! *nosebleeds* (￣Γ￣) It made me fangirl all over again. Now I have to drive these thoughts of Thranduil posing in a magazine away! Glad you like the Eryn/Glorfy ship, too! Thanks for stopping by!

***Rousdower** \- ROUSYY! ROUUSSYYY! Thanks for the review! Our baby Glorfindel feels better now I believe!

**P.S.** I thoroughly thank everyone who reads, reviews, favourites, and follows this story! I absolutely enjoy writing it, so it makes me feel all happy to know that many of you like it! The number of views and reviews have been overwhelming. Thank you!

Also, the new cover image does not belong to me. Credits all go to the wonderful artist!


	41. Special Assigment

**Chapter 41**

_**Special Assignment**_

* * *

Thranduil was irritated beyond all reasons. Returning to Greenwood from Lórinand, he found out that the servants in the kitchen had an accident. As King, he would have allowed it to pass; but no, he did not this time. Barrels of his wine were shattered and the precious red liquor drenched the kitchen floor. One could tell that too much wine was spilled that night that it was already dried when the Elvenking arrived. No words could have described his fury, but he kept silent, glaring instead at the clumsiness of his kitchen servants. He huffed as he turned his heels and left the grandeur kitchen of his underground palace, none too pleased that he had to wait for another season for the making of wine. The harvest season for the wine had already passed, and winter was coming. After _Aduial en Meleth_, winter always followed, and surely, Yule would come.

_Yule_, Thranduil gritted his teeth as he strode the long and winding passageways of his palace. Sometimes he regretted for having those corridors too long. He did not like winter at all, for he believed that it made his forest too cold and barren. Some of the Silvan shared this ideal; his influence as King was great among his people.

He forced himself to think of more important matters. Raithon had been asking permission to scout the whole of Greenwood, which would take him months to return. He said he wanted to see the overall management of the forest, and even mocked that it was Thranduil's duty as King. Santien herself was busy; the population of the Silvan had prospered for the last thousand years. Many of the young girls wanted to become a healer just like her, while boys ran around, following Raithon and the Elven-guard.

And then, there was Celairis. Thranduil had been worried. Following the incident in Lórinand, she seemed to distance herself from him, taking her time and burying herself with Chief Counselor duties that Thranduil found ridiculous. For the past days, she was cold and quiet, earning an inquiring look from the King. Whatever it was, he would coax it out of her.

Celairis was reluctant. There she was, standing in front of the grand double doors. She knew well that on the other side lay the Elvenking's chambers. Her hand reached out for one golden knob, hesitating to turn it. She was aware of her position as the King's counselor, but she was the _Chief Counselor_. Did that mean she had the right to enter the King's room without his permission? But she also knew that she was more than that; Thranduil's motives were clear to her. An Elvenking would not simply give gifts to his counselors, or share dinners with them, or even a kiss on the brow. No, she was more than just a counselor.

Thus, gathering her courage, she entered.

The room was spacious and elegant; silky green curtains hung about the windows and were slightly swaying with the early winter breeze. A king-sized bed was in the middle, blankets and pillows positioned neatly on top. The wardrobe stood on the right side of the room and a small round bedside table as well. But admiring the room was not her intention.

She approached the desk of the Elvenking, his favorite wooden desk where he was always hunched when drawing. Papers were piled neatly on the corner, a quill and ink ready to be used. There was a small bookshelf beside it containing all the books and sketches that the King drew in his lifetime.

Hesitantly, Celairis took out one book and flipped its pages, preparing herself to see what was there.

"I loathe underhanded people," a deep voice sounded behind her.

Celairis jumped and dropped the sketchbook, a dried branch and leaves falling from between the pages. Thranduil narrowed his eyes as the keepsake fell and watched intently as his dark beauty picked it up. Her hands were shaking from being found out too early, but her bright blue eyes held his gaze. She was strong and proud for words, and too intelligent for her own right. But those were the reason why she caught the Elvenking's attention, and the very reason she was in his room.

"Permission to speak, my Lord," Celairis said, still looking directly at him.

Thranduil nodded. "Granted."

"May you tell me what this is?" She flipped one page from the sketchbook and the rough sketch showed a crown of flowers.

It made the King catch his breath. "A crown of bluebells," he answered nonchalantly. "They were given to me."

"And this?" Celairis showed another sketch of two white daggers. Its edges were engraved with elvish runes.

This time, he did not answer. He knew where the conversation was leading, and he did not like it. His counselor continued to show him his sketches, her voice coming in broken syllables. From the first page to the last, it showed countless sketches of a meadow of bluebells, a family of foxes, the waterfalls, the southern fortress of the previous Elvenking, a foliage of green leaves, and a small triangular pennant—all were too painfully familiar to him. When the sketchbook was finished, Celairis held up the dried branch in her hands, looking directly again at her King.

"I was wrong to assume that I could take her place," she said honestly.

Thranduil was silent. His eyes were looking at her sternly and almost indifferently.

"Erynlith, wasn't it?" She continued, fighting back tears. The name sounded like it came from legends. It had been centuries since Celairis saw her, the eccentric minstrel who caught the Elvenking's eyes. The Silvan folk continued to call her _Erfaron_, although only those who remembered her name were Santien, Raithon, and few of the elf guards.

"That was a long time ago," the King finally said. His voice was soft and reassuring for his counselor. He did not wish to see her cry, especially if it was his doing.

Thranduil walked up to her and took the dried branch from her hands. He pulled her into his embrace, his chin resting on the crown of her dark head. He planted a quick kiss on her hair and his hands soothed her back. She began to cry, leaning against him. He kept silent, listening to her sobs beneath him. But his eyes were darted on the branch that lay now on his desk, remembering well how he acquired it.

It was a get-well-soon gift from someone else. He remembered well how they fought off two wargs at the same time, working as a team to gain victory. He remembered well how she knelt in front of him, her face laced with worry. His hands were wrapped in bandages following that, and she always visited him in the infirmary. The branch back then was filled with rich green leaves; in the midst of winter, they grew in the forest, and she thought they were lovely.

"Thranduil."

"Yes?" He answered, taking his eyes off the thing.

"Do you still want to be with her?"

He took her flushed face between his hands and gazed at her eyes. "No, I do not. I have you now. Let us forget this silly incident. She lives in Rivendell now, and most likely has pledged herself to someone else. Let us move on." Then, he kissed her forehead, and Thranduil smiled when she smiled.

* * *

At this time in the night, he did not expect the infirmary to be occupied.

After talking it over with his Chief Counselor, the Elvenking bade her goodnight and locked himself in his chambers for a few moments. Then, changing his coat to a simple tunic and jerkin, he trudged down the staircase and headed straight to the infirmary.

The lights were on when he arrived, prompting him to stop in wonder. It was midnight, and a strong blizzard was raging outside. The streams that flowed underneath the palace were frozen stiff, and the hearths needed to be attended every once in a while.

Crossing his arms over his chest and shivering for a brief moment, Thranduil waited. He leaned against the wall, the lamp flickering just above his head, as he continued eyeing the door of the infirmary. Then, it opened. Raithon emerged, and then Santien. None of them seemed no notice the King's presence. Thranduil watched in amusement as his Captain of the Guards brought his finger to the healer's chin, whispered something in her ear. Santien let out a little gasp and lightly punched him on the chest. Raithon laughed softly and kissed her on the forehead, and then waved his hand when Santien finally closed the door.

As he was heading to the foot of the staircase, only then did Raithon notice the King.

"Ah, Thranduil, what are you doing here?" The dark-haired Captain rubbed his cold hands against the sleeves of his green tunic, and shook his head. "Winter seems more terrible than last year."

"Tell me about it." Thranduil pushed himself off the wall and approached his friend. "I am surprised Santien's staying in the infirmary. Did someone get hurt?"

"Hm?" Raithon blinked, glancing back at the door of the infirmary. He shrugged. "Oh, not that. Haldamir's wife is in labor. Santien believes she would give birth sometime soon, perchance tomorrow."

The King's eyes glinted in excitement. Grimacing, he took a step closer. "So soon? Is it a boy?"

Raithon laughed a little. The gender of the child had been the discussion of the counselors in the council chambers whenever the King was not present. Some of the guards in the outpost, the kitchen servants, and the attendants were murmuring behind their hands, quietly excited for Haldamir and his wife. If betting was proper, Raithon would have betted that the child would be a girl.

"No one knows for sure," the Captain answered. "Haldamir wants it to be a girl, and so do Santien and the other counselors."

For some reason, Thranduil felt extremely lighthearted now. His irritated mood seemed to have vanished upon hearing the news. It had been a while since he saw another elfling in his forest, an enthusiastic child running around within his palace. He felt happiness for Haldamir and his wife, though a part of him also seemed to be missing quite something else.

"Gender does not matter," the King said. "As long as the child is healthy. I would like my child to be healthy as well."

Raithon smirked. "Better get yourself a lady first, before anything else."

Thranduil glared. "Damn it. You always spoil the mood. But enough of this matters." He waved his hand flippantly, while the other held out something for the Captain. "I have a special assignment for you."

"What is this?"

"I want you to go to Rivendell, to send my regards to Elrond and Celebrían. You would also deliver some presents for their children—Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen. Galion would help you prepare for the travel, and for anything else. And this," Thranduil whispered, offering the sealed parcel to his friend, "Erfaron must have it. You must promise me she would receive this."

The Captain of the Guards was holding his breath as he accepted. It was thick and heavy, almost like a hardbound book, and sealed in a brown paper. A green wax shaped as a leaf was in the middle. He took a deep breath as he looked at the eyes of his friend, his King. All Raithon saw was sincerity.

"I promise."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** I know I promised in the last chapter that I would only be gone for two weeks at most, and voilà! I was gone for the whole month! I am really sorry for the late update. I am currently in Menorca, and the internet connection is terrible. I could not tell when I could update again. Also, I apologize for the short chapter. Hopefully, the next one would be long and would focus back on Eryn and Glorfindel. For now, let us enjoy Thranduil and Celairis, and some Raithon as well!

Though I do not have much time to thank everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter (because internet here is really crappy), I would like to give special mention to the guest who gave constructive criticism. You have a lot of good points! It was indeed Erynlith's fault for leaving Thranduil, but none of the characters acknowledge this. Erynlith should have been there when Thranduil was suffering, yet it was Celairis who stayed with him. She deserves to be treated well, at least; or give her some credit. After the timeskip, I am not even sure what should be the status of Eryn and Thranduil's relationship. I think, at this point in the story, there are no romantic feelings whatsoever. I also think the right feeling here is that they both miss each other badly, not in a romantic sense.

Aaaand the rant stops here! Anyone could come up with what they think would happen next! Thank you everyone who has waited patiently for this chapter! I would try my best to get another chapter done (and updated) in the next few days or so.

Thank you very much! And reviews are always welcome! ( ~˘ ³˘)~


	42. The Balrog-slayer

**Chapter 42**

_**The Balrog-slayer**_

* * *

Glorfindel was restless yet again. The evening of celebration was a good reason not to sleep. Yet here he was, standing in the middle of his room, unsure of what to do. The weather was already too cold for his liking, but Erynlith had been too cheerful about another upcoming celebration called Yule. Whatever it was, he regarded it as interesting and looked forward on spending it with her. He knew he needed rest; the training of the new guards was pressing in on him, and Elrond had many expectations on the new captain.

Sighing tiredly, Glorfindel stripped himself of his clothing and went into the bathing chambers, determined to let off some steam before going to rest.

* * *

"Interesting… It must have been bound during the late First Age… Look at these strange runes…"

Erynlith timidly listened to Erestor admiring an ancient book from the library, something that was written in the High Elven-tongue, the same language Círdan and Gildor used in greeting the newcomers from the West. She remembered Glorfindel being referred as _Laurefindil_, which Erestor had now thoughtfully translated as "golden-haired": Glorfindel. She suppressed a yawn coming up as Erestor continued reading and translating the dusty book she found. It was Elrond's idea for her to research something about Glorfindel's past, an attempt to help him readjust in his new life in Imladris.

And she was determined on doing that.

Erestor read the book in the night, from the first page until they reached the middle. He felt like a father telling his daughter a bedtime story, and he smiled at the thought. He and Erynlith were like this when she was younger, back when their outlook on each other was father and daughter. Without asking Elrond, Erestor already knew who Glorfindel was, only trying not to look or sound too interested. But he felt pity for the Elda; it must have been a hard time for him. He read stories about Beleriand, of its tales and ancient songs, and of Gondolin: its Wise King, the Twelve Houses of the Gondolindrim, and so forth. He had told stories of how Gondolin was ambushed in the middle of a feast, and how doom was written that day. He mentioned a Balrog, a demon of might, and Erynlith associated it with the fire, thunder and lightning that Glorfindel always spoke of.

"So, you mean to say is… Glorfindel was pulled by his hair and fell to his death?" She asked in disbelief. She felt fear creeping up in her veins, and then shrugged it away. There was no wonder why her friend was too afraid of his own nightmares.

Erestor nodded, sipping from his tea. "The Balrog pulled him down by the hair and they both perished from falling off a cliff. An eagle bore his body away and it was buried somewhere near Gondolin. You should not mention that to him, however, or it will spark another fear in him, and he might lose himself again."

She felt sorry for Glorfindel. "What happened to Gondolin after that?"

"It was lost," Erestor said quickly. "After the heroic deed of Glorfindel, his people successfully escaped and some lived." He left out that Elrond was the son of the child Glorfindel saved that day.

"Do you think I can learn some songs in Quenya?" She asked again, leaning closer from her seat.

A dark eyebrow arched up. "What for?"

Erynlith shrugged lightly. "I wanted to learn how to sing in Quenya. Why not, right? Erestor?"

He sighed in defeat and took a paper and a quill. He began to write some songs that he knew, mostly some songs about tales and such. Over his shoulder, Erynlith watched as he wrote elegantly in Elvish runes. Not long after, Erestor gave her the paper and said: "Give this to Lindir. He knows how to sing that."

"Thank you!" She kissed his cheek and immediately bolted outside his room.

"Hey!" Erestor called out. "Close the door when— ugh, never mind."

* * *

_The demon was howling with laughter. He took pleasure in tormenting the scared elves. The golden one in front of him looked might and defiant enough, but his heaving chest betrayed his masked courage. Thunder rolled and lightning flashed, the demon hurled itself against the golden elf. It was confident beyond words, and it wished to soak the ground with the elf's blood. It wanted to smear that golden banner with the red of his blood, to break his bones and burn it with its flames. And when the elf lay dead, the ashes of his body should strike fear in the heart of the fleeing others. The two combatants fought long, and the victory of the golden elf was absolute. In its final attempt of vengeance, the demon pulled the flowing golden tresses, entangling its wicked claws there as it forcefully drew the elf down with him to the dark oblivion. And the final sounds that the elf heard was the wicked laugher of the demon._

* * *

Everyone who heard the terrified scream rushed into the long passageways. Almost all the important figures in Imladris broke into a run: Erynlith, Erestor, Gildor, Elrond and Celebrían. Their company was led by Erynlith, and she knew exactly where to go. Arriving there, the doors were locked, and she cried out his name. Another fearful scream answered them. Erestor rushed in and pounded on the door, and finally, Elrond kicked the latches. Grand double doors opened, and the elves entered. They gasped at the sight of Glorfindel.

He was lying on the cold floor, a knife in his unsteady hand. He was sobbing and shouting in the High Elven-tongue, his free hand clutching hard on his golden head. As Erynlith came closer, she gasped again. Glorfindel had cut off his long golden hair, the remnants pooled about his sweaty and trembling form.

When she called out to him, her voice as soft as always, Glorfindel abruptly stood up and clutched the knife tighter in his right hand. His sapphire eyes were constricted, probing eagerly around the room. But his vision was blurry and his ears could not comprehend the assuring words offered to him. When he blinked his eyes again, one dark figure was approaching him, and he held his knife higher.

"Glorfindel…" Erynlith whispered, walking towards him slowly.

"Erynlith, no!" Erestor shouted from behind her, cautious of the knife that Glorfindel held aloft. "Get away from him!"

She gave him a reassuring smile. "This is Glorfindel, Erestor, not a mindless creature. He needs to be comforted." With that, she continued her way towards him. "Glorfindel? It's Erynlith… Put down the knife, _mellon nin_. Please…"

But the words were not processed by his mind. Lightning flashed before his eyes and he was startled. Glorfindel felt someone holding him down by his shoulders, trying to embrace him, and he shouted again. He grabbed a fistful of hair, and in a feat of terror, ran his knife through it.

"Eryn!" Erestor rushed as Glorfindel unconsciously grabbed Erynlith. He tore off the golden elf's strong grip on her and pushed him backwards, with the warrior hitting the wall of his chambers. He collapsed again on the floor, tears falling from his eyes. Erestor turned to Erynlith and lifted her chin. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head, momentarily dazed from the unexpected assault. She looked down where Glorfindel lay. The golden hair that pooled on the foot of the bed was joined with her long umber hair. Erestor ran his fingers through her hair, now cascading past her shoulders. But what she held tightly was her wounded arm, caught up by Glorfindel's knife. In his anger, Erestor gritted his teeth and rounded towards the captain, ready to give him punishment for the assault.

"Erestor, no!" Erynlith grabbed his shoulders. "Please, no. Let me handle this. Please… Elrond tell him!"

Elrond walked over to Erestor and patted his shoulder lightly. Those who had watched the unstable Glorfindel were dumbfounded. Gildor and Celebrían were speechless but offered their pity to the sobbing golden elf. Elrond whispered something in his counselor's ear, something that would change his mind. Reluctantly, Erestor nodded.

"Shall I tend to your wounds now?" The half-elf looked worried.

"Later." She smiled at him as the others began to leave.

When they were finally alone, Erynlith pressed on to her wound tighter, drawing out blood and wincing in pain. She knelt in front of Glorfindel, wiping away the locks of hair that were cut off. She reached out for his face, lifting his chin up to look at him. And Glorfindel complied; his face flushed red, his eyes puffy from crying all night. The knife in his hand was discarded as he realized who was holding him. It was the familiar face that always comforted him every night he had a nightmare. There was the smile that he missed so much. Erynlith gently picked him up from the floor and pulled him into the bed.

"Please… Do not leave…"

She sat beside him. "I will not leave, Glorfindel."

"The demon returned," he said, his voice shaking and tears fell again. "He pulled me by the hair, so I cut mine. There is _nothing_ to pull now… I am so tired of fighting the demon again and again and again…"

She curled up to him and wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. Like he always did, Glorfindel rested his head near her chest, where he could hear her heart beating. His left hand held her waist firmly, not wanting to let her go. Fingers wound through his now short golden hair which also fell past his shoulders. He bit his lower lip to keep himself from sobbing again.

"You are my guiding light. Please do not leave me."

* * *

Others who heard about his rebirth had always told him how lucky he was to have another chance in life. He supposed they were right, not all elves were given second chance of redemption. But did the Valar choose the right elf? There were many who succeeded him in might and prowess, of skill and of wisdom. But why him? The other elves did not know the confusion he felt when the decision was made. He wanted to decline, to stop all the memories and succumbed into the Halls of Mandos. There was a task waiting for him in Middle-earth, and that was to serve and protect the son of the child he saved in Gondolin: Elrond. The others had always complimented him of his fortune, on how Elrond and the others pampered him almost every day. He was the Captain of Rivendell; maidens and guards alike were captivated by his very presence. Add the fact that his appearance was extremely comely; he was almost treated like a lord superior than Elrond. But they did not know what lay behind the doors of his bedchambers. A screaming, terrified elf— he would shake under his covers for hours until dawn breaks.

Others did not see the bruises he left on his beloved friend, that one friend who would leave the comfort of her room just to ease his fear. They did not hear her soft singing; she learned how to sing in the High Elven-tongue for she knew it would ease him. They did not know the reason their hair was short or the reason why her arm was bandaged in the next few days. He was regretful for that act, and he would not do it again. Others did not see how he almost submitted himself into his fears, how he would was descended into madness if not for the selfless love that his friend had for him. Her gentle words, touches and smiles kept him going every day. She was the reason why he was motivated to get off his cold bed and face the difficulty of his new life.

* * *

Two friends walked hand in hand around Imladris. A red scarf was around Erynlith's neck for the winter had come and the valley was covered with nothing but snow. She took delight in the cold weather. It gave her enough reason to sit in front of the hearth and snug closely to her brother. Perhaps this year would be different. With intertwined fingers, Glorfindel smiled as he walked down the aisle with her, his own red scarf warming him. It was a gift from Gildor, and they were the only elves who wore them around Imladris. Yule was fast approaching, and he was ecstatic to celebrate the strange event with her.

"Oh, good morning," Celebrían cheerfully greeted when they entered the Halls of Fire. No one was there except Erestor, who was speaking to the lady prior of their arrival.

"Good morning, Lady Celebrían," Glorfindel greeted and took the seat beside Erynlith, as she settled herself parallel to Erestor's seat. "Where are the children?" He had always thought of Elladan, Elrohir, and Arwen as children.

Celebrían smiled warmly. "They are keeping their father in his study room. Those three want some grand Yule celebration next week, and Elrond keeps on declining them." She laughed softly. "How is your arm, Erfaron? Does it still hurt?"

Upon hearing that, Glorfindel was the first to react. He flinched, and Erestor noticed him do so. Everyone knew how sorry he was for the assault, for cutting her hair and wounding her arm. He was immediately forgiven, but Erestor did not. The longer Erynlith stayed with Glorfindel, the more Erestor felt hostile with the golden elf. As Erynlith answered Celebrían's question, Glorfindel looked down on the arm that Elrond had neatly wrapped up. It was not entirely a deep wound, but it worried him. He remembered the poisoned wound she still had on her right wrist, the one that made her tears fall on an autumn night.

Absentmindedly, he touched her hand softly and gave her a worried look.

"I am fine, Glorfindel," Erynlith assured him. But he was not convinced. "Do you want to go somewhere else?"

He nodded and they both stood up again, ready to leave the Halls of Fire. Then, Erestor's voice was trailed off with a huff.

"Balrog-slayer."

Instantly, Glorfindel froze and his eyes widened. No one had called him that before. Would he take it as a compliment? No, it would never be a compliment. If he accepted it, it would also mean he accepted his demise at the hands of the demon. His hand slipped away from Erynlith and he broke into a run, leaving his friend dazed at his sudden actions.

Erynlith glared at her brother. "Very good, Erestor."

"What?" His voice sounded innocent and uncaring. He stood up and towered over her, his dark eyes were defiant and almost demanding. Erestor was never the one for demands, and it scared her this time. "Eryn, look what he has done to you! He forces you every night to stay with him. And your hair and arm… Glorfindel is an uncontrollable elf. He is almost a mindless creature! Let Elrond handle him this time. I do not wish to see you getting hurt again."

"But I am not hurt, Erestor!" She argued. "You know very well how Glorfindel still feels about his past life. You shouldn't have called him a Balrog-slayer! It was rude and heartless of you!"

Erestor fell silent as he watched her leave the Halls. Did he hear it right? Was Erynlith was finally defying him? For all the years they had been together, she had not been too rebellious to him. Whatever Erestor asked of her, she would listen, even if it meant abandoning what she wanted. Was it not the case when she left Greenwood? She left to follow him back to Imladris, because he wanted to. She left Thranduil and chose to be with him, because she loved Erestor more than the Prince. Such was her selfless love for everybody. But now… she was choosing Glorfindel over Erestor. Was he supposed to feel threatened now? Will Glorfindel usurp Erynlith's attention and love from Erestor?

Celebrían tapped his shoulder, well knowing that he was surprised of Erynlith's harsh words. She smiled at him and pulled him back to the seat where he once was.

"Eryn was right," she gently told the dark-haired counselor. "You should have limited your words in front of Lord Glorfindel. He still relies on Erynlith's comfort and you know that. Be more open-minded next time, dear counselor…"

"I will, and I am sorry," was all Erestor had to say for himself.

Glorfindel wanted to ignore the light footsteps that approached him, but how could be ignore her? He sighed and looked up just as she took the seat beside him. He did not say anything. Instead, he returned his eyes on the thick white blanket that covered the courtyard. More snow pooled at his feet and he buried his dark boots beneath them, the coldness seeping through the leather. Light snow fell on his golden head and lap. He reached out for one and felt its coldness melting. Erynlith did not speak to him. She simply looked at the direction where he looked. He was in no mood to talk; he was too stricken of the name Erestor had called him.

Finally, Erynlith sighed and began to talk.

"Did you come all the way here just to brood?"

Glorfindel did not answer. But Erynlith smiled and continued:

"I can see my room from here."

And his supposed cold demeanor was broken, and he laughed. "I always wonder why I cannot stay mad when you're around."

"Simple." She winked and scooted closer, her head resting against his shoulder. "I am the best elf in Imladris. Now, wouldn't you agree, dear Captain of the Guards?"

"I thought you were going to say Balrog-slayer." He looked at her mischievously.

She arched an eyebrow. "Oh, do you want me to call you that?"

"I don't mind if it's you who will call me that," Glorfindel said, smiling. "If it is you, dear Erynlith, I might as well slay another Balrog."

* * *

**Next Chapter:** *drum rolls* Raithon arrives in Imladris!

**Author's Notes:** I know, I owe you guys LOTS of apologies for the VERY late update! I promised last chapter that I would be back in a week and here I am updating the story... one and a half month later! Can you believe how fast time flies? Truly though, I am sorry for the delay. It seemed like a tiring month for me, and truth be told: I lost motivation to write. So, during that one and a half month of absence, I tried to read books again (I finished 6 books, actually). Hopefully, I can continue and update the story as much as I am able (and hope that school doesn't get in the way).

***Frostfire613** \- I think it is still a Celairis/Thrand/Eryn/Glorfindel story. Phew, that's a lot of ships!

***StarofSea** \- Welcome! I know this is a very late reply, but I remember smiling while reading your long review! I absolutely love reading all of it! There is so much to reply to your review, but here goes: yes, the characters do things that can make you love/hate him or her, and it is enjoyable to write eccentric Eryn with her singing and Thrandy being tsundere. Would you like to see the clash between Glorfy and Thrandy? Oh my, what a chapter it would make! Also, would you like to see Legolas here? Last thing, the High King is Gil-galad. I really didn't mention a name because it would make his death sadder (Did it even work or is it just me?)

Wrapping all that up, I am glad you like reading this story! It's very nice to meet you; sending love from Spain to Mexico!

***Asmodeus Black** \- Don't worry! I'll make sure Thrandy and Eryn will meet again, and then Celairis will learn her place. MUA HA HA HA!

***fan** \- Sorry to know that you're losing interest. We'll get there, but not yet! We'll see who becomes Thrandy's queen and Legolas's mother. Thanks for the review!

***Rei** \- Sorry to keep you waiting for so long! Long live Thrandy/Eryn! :)

***Eirithdiel **\- For all we know, Thrandy might have sent a bottle of wine to her. XD Thanks for the review!

***Am4444**\- Oooh, well that's a thought! Kill off Celairis and let Thrandy/Eryn live happily ever after. I'll note that!

Goodness! I missed replying to everyone's reviews! Since many of you ask about Legolas's appearance, I have a question: would you want him to appear in _this_ story, or in the sequel? Judging from the plot that I have in mind, this story would still go on for quite long. Legolas might appear here, or if you want, in the sequel. You know your opinions can change mine, so yeah!

Thank you all for reading. I hope you like this one! (Poor Glorfy; here, lemme give you a kiss and a hug). See you next chapter!


	43. Thinking Of You

**Chapter 43**

_**Thinking Of You**_

* * *

"The Elven-guard is ready to depart," Celairis announced in a business-like tone. She could not tell if the King on his throne was listening to her. His mind seemed to be wandering, his eyes gazing lazily outside. Snow fell profusely from the skies, and the Silvan folk were shut in their houses. The dark counselor stepped forward until she reached the bottom of the steps, looking up to her occupied King.

"My Lord," she said louder, now earning his attention. "The Elven-guard is ready to depart. Do you have any final orders for them?"

Thranduil shook his head and suppressed a yawn. Truly, winter was such a boring season. He gestured for her to leave. "I have none," he said. "Except that they return here before spring breaks. We cannot have the outpost unattended for long."

"No words for Lord Elrond?" She urged.

His eyes narrowed at once. "Do not make me repeat myself," the King said sternly.

Celairis bowed and went off to deliver the King's orders to the eager to depart Elven-guard.

* * *

"_Fire! Fire! Ferocious fire! _

_You restless wall of flame. _

_Fire! Fire! Roaring higher! _

_Your fury to never tame."_

Erynlith stopped short from the song she was singing. It was supposed to be a cheerful song, but it ended up darker as it went by. She looked at her friend worriedly. But Glorfindel laughed it off and shifted from his position. They were in Erynlith's room for a change. The hearth blazed strongly in front of them, for winter sure was heavy in that time of the year. They were curled up on the couch; the golden elf laid his head on her lap as her fingers absent-mindedly comb through them.

"Don't mind me," Glorfindel said, snuggling closer. "I like the song."

She smiled. "Your hair is so smooth and silky. Makes me jealous…" She twirled a lock between her fingers, pulling it lightly.

He looked up to her. "Your dark hair suits you," he said. "I like it."

"You like everything, tra-la," she retorted, and the elf on her lap chuckled. "With your hair this short, you cannot braid it any more…"

"Actually, _you_ can." He slipped from the couch and sat between her legs, back turned against her. "Try braiding mine," he coaxed, his blue eyes glimmering in the fire.

"I don't braid hairs," Erynlith said. "I only do mine and it is not even that presentable, tra-lo."

"You can do it," he urged. "If you can dance, then you can also braid my hair, tra-la-lay."

"Oh, this elf…" She groaned and began to braid the golden hair that cascaded a little past his shoulders. Glorfindel had always kept it combed back neatly, something the other elves were amazed of. She worked her way through the silky tresses, silently admiring and envious. Beneath her, Glorfindel was smiling happily like an elfling, sitting cross-legged as the fire warmed them both. He felt light tugging on his scalp, not enough to hurt but enough to make him jerk. He laughed quietly and spoke no word thereafter.

"There we go." Erynlith sighed and collapsed on the couch, trying to admire her work. It was a simple braid similar to what Elrond usually had: a small braided strand on each side of the ears and another larger strand from the middle of the head down to the back. She watched as Glorfindel reached out and felt for his head, and then he smiled appreciatively.

"Good work," he remarked and sat again beside her.

She glared at him. "If I can braid a hair, you can play a lute," she challenged.

Glorfindel was never the one for music, let alone musical instruments. He deemed his hands were too big, heavy, and rough for playing instruments, especially string instruments. He learned the basics of playing a flute in his youth, but never excelled in it. He was convinced that his hands were only for handling swords and knives. But as the proud elf that he was, he would not back down. If his friend endured the horror of dancing and braiding his hair, then how bad could playing instruments be? He offered her a sly smile, an answer to her challenge, and she smiled at him in return.

From the courtyard, they heard the Elven-horn sounding.

Quickly, Erynlith bolted from the couch, taking Glorfindel's hand in hers, and they broke into a run. He allowed himself being swept away from his feet, careful not to hit anyone as they passed other elves that were curious. Tonight, Yule would take place. And he was excited. Elrond and Erestor were done for tonight's preparation; Erynlith helped Celebrían and Arwen in designing the Halls of Fire; Elladan and Elrohir helped prepare the desserts for tonight's celebration. As he and his friend continued to push their way, Erestor appeared before them, pressing an index finger on his lips: an indication of silence.

At the head of the crowd, Elrond greeted the newcomers in Sindarin, and someone burst out in enthusiastic greetings and formalities. The elves beside them whispered amongst each other: on how these elves were not from around those parts. Erynlith removed her hold from Glorfindel's hand and squinted closer until she could see the green banner that was held aloft. There was no mistaking that banner, the heraldic device of tree and leaves were so painfully familiar.

Greenwood.

Her heart pounded in excitement as she pushed away the elves in front of her, while Erestor tried to keep her still. But it was too late; his hand was shrugged and he slumped back with Glorfindel; the golden elf looking at the counselor curiously. His eyes wandered back to the now-running Erynlith, who seemed to have recognized the captain of the host and threw her arms around his neck.

"Raithon!" She exclaimed in full joy as the Sindarin captain laughed and spun her around.

"Erfaron!" He embraced her tightly. His dark eyes began observing her. "Look at you! You are more beautiful than the evening!" He laughed and continued: "We missed you _so much_ in Greenwood!"

She grinned and looked around. She did not know some of the elves, though there were those who knew her smiled wider and greeted her in their Silvan dialect. It was surprising for them to remember her after full thousand years.

Again, she looked around, searching for the familiar pale golden head that she missed so. Gradually, she frowned and gave Raithon a confused look. Wistfully, the dark-haired captain shook his head and whispered, "He did not come."

"Oh," came her disappointed voice.

Soon, Elrond and Erestor were upon Greenwood's Elven-guard, with Erynlith slowly sinking behind the crowd. She imagined how assuming she must have looked in front of Raithon. How foolish and stupid of her to assume! She blinked back tears of frustration, and she felt her knees weakening. She would have fallen there on the spot if not for the powerful yet gentle hands that caught her. She looked up, her grey eyes shining with the upcoming tears; and Glorfindel was looking down at her, carefully settling her on the cold staircase. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, his red scarf he offered to her. Elves do not get cold like Men do; it was only that Gildor made those scarves as gifts. Erynlith rested her head against his chest, breathing heavily and fighting back sobs. The feeling was strange, but it urged her to weep, and she did not even know _why_ she wanted to cry.

Even Glorfindel did not understand why she was acting like that. Did the newly-arrived captain said something terrible to her? He could not fathom what. All he wanted was his friend to feel better.

He sat quietly beside her for the rest of the evening. Both took seats in the corner of the festive Halls of Fire. He watched and listened as Lindir played several instruments, the passing of each elf to and fro, the clinking of the wine glass and plates as Elladan and Elrohir led the assault on the long dining table. And, of course, there was laughter. But his friend did not take part in it. He tore his gaze away from the happy elves to the rather somber one on his left. Erynlith rarely spoke ever since Raithon—as Elrond introduced the two captains earlier—arrived. She did not touch her plate, and he chuckled inwardly, knowing well her aversion for vegetables. Absentmindedly, he placed his hand on her knee, the coldness of his palm flinching her.

"Please do not frown," Glorfindel said, scooting closer so that his face was few inches away from hers. "Tonight is Yule, is it not? You said Yule is a very wonderful event, that I should adore it and enjoy it as much as you do. Smile for me tonight, Erynlith. That should make my first Yule memorable."

She forced a smile and squeezed the hand on her knee. "I am very sorry, Glorfindel. I was thinking too much."

"About what?" He couldn't help but he intrigued. Never did she mention anything about her relationship in Greenwood. He did not even know that she was called Erfaron until Raithon mentioned it.

"Nothing really." She shrugged and offered him the glass of wine. "Gildor wants me to drink it. Don't tell him I gave it to you."

Glorfindel laughed and drank the wine in one sitting. "Is your challenge still open? I would like to challenge myself as well."

Before Erynlith had the chance to answer, Raithon walked up to them, a glass of wine in his hand. Instantly, Glorfindel drew his hands back and let the Sindarin captain excuse his friend for a while. She spared Glorfindel a small smile, and then disappeared outside the Halls. As soon as she had left, Glorfindel was quickly flocked by the maidens who relentlessly offered him food and drink. He tried to decline them one by one, but in the end, he accepted them all and tried to drown himself with too much attention.

"Lord Glorfindel, would you like to have more wine?" The golden elf recognized this maiden; she was Firianath, the one he danced with during _Aduial en Meleth_. He was surprised that he actually remembered her.

She had the dark hair of her Imladris kin, brown eyes and an expressive, youthful face. She was young, Glorfindel guessed, as she held out another wine glass to him. Her skin was pale, her cheekbones prominent, hollowing her cheeks even more. She smiled when Glorfindel took the glass from her and sipped lightly from it; and her smile became wider when he spoke to her.

"Firianath, is it not?" He asked cordially as his attention was swayed by the other maidens who flocked him.

She nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, my Lord! Do you want something to accompany that wine? Or would rather have—"

"I am well," Glorfindel politely interjected. "You should enjoy Yule as it is, my lady. Please, go along with your other friends."

"I have nothing else to do," she said, still entranced at the sight of the handsome elf in front of her. "May I accompany you for the rest of the night, Lord Glorfindel?" She loved mentioning his name out loud.

There was nothing else he could do but nod quietly.

* * *

Raithon did not speak until he was sure he and Erynlith were far enough from the eyes and ears of others. They stood at the end of a dark hallway. The captain briefly shrugged and huddled his thick traveling robes closer.

"Santien sends her regards," he began, slightly laughing. Damn, she missed this Elven-guard captain! "Actually, there are many others who wanted to give you their warmest greetings. Amardís and the other attendants, Santien and the healers, and some of the counselors and folks that that were left behind. Haldamir and his wife have a newly-born elfling in their home. Everyone is so excited to know that the Elven-guard was departing for Imladris, especially after a thousand years. King Amroth has visited Greenwood recently, and he is glad to know that we are leaving."

At once, Erynlith longed to see Greenwood. Over the seven years of her stay, she had made so many good friends, all who still remembered her now. She missed the dense woodland, the streams, and the flowers that grew there. She missed being in the palace, to converse with some of the counselors in the afternoon, to talk with King Oropher and—

Remembering what had happened, she quickly became as somber as before. She cast her eyes to the ground before her feet, trying to understand what she was _supposed_ to feel.

Sighing, she asked, "What of Thranduil?"

Raithon shook his head. "The Elvenking is _far_ too busy." He would not dare to mention Thranduil's affair with Celairis. "But he left something for you, something important, I guess." He pulled out a thick white envelope from his jerkin pocket and handed it to her.

The envelope was rather large and thick. Whatever its contents were, Erynlith wanted to find out soon. She took her time examining the envelope, but there were no words written on it, not even the name of its sender. She thanked Raithon quietly and sent her regards to the other Silvan folk. The Elven-guard would not stay in Imladris for too long; their orders were to simply hear news from Elrond. When Raithon returned to the Halls of Fire, she quickly ran back into her room.

Glorfindel looked at the captain expectantly when he re-entered the Halls. Blue eyes searched for his friend, but she was not there accompanying Raithon. Abruptly, he stood up, not caring if crumbs of cake fell from his lap. He exited and ran down the long hallways, determined to see where she was.

Erynlith fought against the strong urge to rip the envelope open. Instead, she ran her fingers on the top fold, knowing that Thranduil had touched it also. The absence of his name ticked her, but she gave it no heed any more. She pried the lid open, peeking at the contents. She laid it all out on her bed, countless rough papers. Some were wrinkled too much, the others almost torn from its old age. One by one, she examined the papers. There were no letters, an only sketch of things that were painfully familiar to her—sketches of two white daggers, family of foxes, forest clearing and river bank, meadow of pencil-colored bluebells, fortress, her pennant, a crown of flowers, and lastly, a foliage of leaves. She remembered them all, how they came to be, and the story of each keepsake.

Tears began to flow freely from her eyes, gently touching the last sketch. She bit her lip to stop herself, but it did not help. For thousands of years, she kept her yearning for him a secret: always denying it in front of Elrond and Erestor—because Erestor would stop her from mentioning Thranduil and because nobody understood what it felt, and thought it was all just a stupid infatuation. Thus, she forced her attention to other things: the growing up of Elrond's children, her travels with Gildor, and now, on Glorfindel's recovery. Her time in Greenwood was now like a figment in her mind.

Then, slipping from the foliage sketch, there was a small piece of paper. Its handwriting was elegant and elaborate, written in a silver ink on a brown paper. It only said the words:

"_Thinking of you."_

Three words that were enough to make her collapse on the bed and cry harder. She missed him terribly. She wanted to throw herself to Elrond and plead her return to Greenwood. _But was it possible?_ Was it possible for her to leave Erestor and Glorfindel behind? Both elves needed her, especially the warrior. He had yet to recover from the fires of his nightmares.

And she continued to cry, tears drenching her blankets as she was curled on among his sketches. Why did Thranduil send them? Did he not want those anymore? She did not realize how much it hurt for missing him until now. An elf's immortal life surely was a flaw.

"Thranduil…" Erynlith whispered his name, savoring the sound. She missed saying his name. "Thranduil…"

Glorfindel decided not to knock on her door any more. His heart slowly broke as he listened to her cries and whimpers, to the name that she constantly whispered. He did not know who Thranduil was, or whose son and family line he belonged to. Perhaps he was someone influential and important, someone dearly loved by his friend.

Unable to endure her cries any more, Glorfindel turned his heels and left in dismay. He would have wanted to hold her like how she did to him, to rock her as if she was en elfling in his arms, to whisper sweet words of encouragement in her ears.

But no. He would find out first who that elf was—that one elf who made her cry despite not being there personally.

_Thranduil._

* * *

**Next Chapter:** More Raithon and Erynlith, I guess?

**Author's Notes:** I did it! Guys, I did it! I updated as early as I could! For that, I'm going to give out lots and lots of cakes! (ﾉ^ヮ^)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧ *throws sparkles all around*

Now then, after a thousand years without contact, Eryn _doesn't_ know what to feel, which is kind of hard to write/portray. It's like she is torn between wanting to go and see Thrandy, but also worries about Glorfindel (Glorfy cannot come with her in Greenwood because of captain duties). Erestor, on the other hand, well... things often go crazy whenever our good big brother Erestor gets involved.

***Rousdower** \- I am imagining Glorfy with short hair and he still looks fabulous to me! Thank you for the revieeewww~!

***Zip001** \- You're very observant; I like you! XD Yes, Erestor has come from the protective brother to the _over_protective and super clingy brother. I think it comes from his past experience: he failed to protect Eryn's parents from an ambush, so, in return, he likes the idea that _he_ is the one protecting her now. He loves the idea that she's relying on him, but fails to see that he has turned out to be quite controlling and suffocating. He refuses to admit that Eryn is swaying away from him (because of her closeness to Glorfindel), which is why he retaliates to Glorfindel himself, not to her.

Thranduil went a long road from a prince to an Elvenking, so I am not yet sure how he will influence Eryn now. I'd say both of them are just yearning for someone, but yes—it's not "soul mate" love any more. But because Thrandy needs to get back into the shipping game. LOL.

Thank you very much for the awesome review!

***only-one-mirkwood-princess** \- Awww, I missed you too! In fact, I missed everyone! Erestor will be our jealous big brother! Jajaja no te preocupes, gracias!

***Asmodeus Black** \- Thank you, Black! I hope we do get some Thrandy spotlight soon!

***SparklesJustReads** \- Aren't we all suckers for Legolas? LOL. I would _love_ to write about chubby baby Legolas! *squeals*

***Rosiethehobbit17** \- Yes, Glorfy has Eryn (so does that mean Thrandy can stick with Celairis?) LOL, just kidding! Thank you for the revieeeew~!

***bettsam0731 **\- Don't worry! I am already sorting out how Leggles would fit into the story, so hold on to your seat! :)

*May - It sounds sweet when you say that Glorfindel really needs her. I am 100% sure they will make a good pair because they get along so well, but wouldn't the Eryn-Thrandy pair would be a little more adventurous (like the good old times)?

***Eirithdiel **\- Glorfindel/Eryn forever? LOL. I might make a separate ending where they get together, but it'll still take a long time. Plus, Glorfy with a new haircut and I imagine he will still look good no matter what. But the golden locks—noooooo!

***StarofSea**\- In one corner, we have the Balrog-slayer and in the other is the cold Elvenking of Mirkwood—let the Hunger Games begin! *whispers* Between you and I, I would also like to have Glorfindel for myself. He's such a big sweetheart.

LOL I _love_ your theory. I would somehow make it happen? We'll see.

**P.S.** Thank you for all the reviews! I love you guys a lot! See you all in the next update! 〜٩(^▿^)۶〜


	44. Of His Possessiveness

**Chapter 44**

_**Of His Possessiveness**_

* * *

Glorfindel kept a good distance away from her, not too close to cause irritation, but enough to rush to her when he was needed. But as he stood there, concealed by the large pillar covered by frost, he knew he was not needed. He successfully coaxed Erestor into telling him the story about Erynlith, the events in Greenwood a thousand years ago; and he must say: he did not expect such a story. He never would have guessed she endured that much—that she left Greenwood because of her love for Erestor. The Chief Counselor did not sound a bit sorry though; whether he was clueless or what, Glorfindel could not tell. He shifted uncomfortably from his supposed hiding place, standing on one foot already made him numb. He was sure he was obscured from their eyes, or rather, _her_ eyes, as his blue gaze pierced her back. Centuries of warfare made him no stranger to stealth and stalking, if that what was he was doing.

His ears perked up in a feline manner when he heard her laugh. She was in the company of the Sindarin captain _again_: two elves walking around the snow-stricken courtyard of Imladris. She wore Gildor's red scarf about her neck, her hands tucked beneath the folds of her tunic. The captain was laughing with her, in a jest he surely created. Glorfindel leaned closer to the pillar, not daring to think that eavesdropping was such a disgraceful conduct. He had heard from Celebrían that Captain Raithon was a good friend, and she had teased that Glorfindel should not feel jealous at all. Hearing that from her surely made heat rush to his face.

"Lord Glorfindel," someone called out to him, and he flinched as he looked over his shoulder. Elladan and Elrohir approached him, each wearing a matching blue scarf that Gildor had no doubt gave as well; in fact, the traveler sure had enough time to spare last month. Both brothers were smirking, their grey eyes twinkling in mischief as they scooted closer to the taller golden elf.

"Ah, children," Glorfindel addressed them with a smirk of his own. He knew well how the brothers disliked being referred as such, though Arwen did not seem to mind. He found her more pleasing in company than her mischievous brothers. "What brings you here?" he continued, sounding casual about his eavesdropping.

Elladan glanced at Erynlith and Raithon, before turning back to his brother with a devious smile. To Glorfindel, he arched a slender eyebrow and said, "If you are jealous, all you have to do is say so."

The statement was followed by suppressed snickering from the two younger elves.

Glorfindel blanched, unsure how to defend himself from such a tease. At length, when the brothers had ceased their snickering, he said, "I do not feel so, child. I am merely… observing…" His voice faltered reluctantly.

"Is that so?" Elrohir simpered this time, draping an arm around his brother's shoulder and giving the golden elf another mischievous look. "But you've been glaring at Captain Raithon for a while now. Surely, when he is to be alone, you will pounce on him like a mad cat and scold him for taking Erfaron's attention."

At that, Glorfindel's face flushed with embarrassment. How could Elrond endure such naughty elves for hundreds of years? His eyes briefly glanced back at his subject; she and the captain were now leaving the courtyard and would soon be upon Celebrían's gardens. If he wanted to watch her, he needed to rid himself of the brothers first. Then, he cleared his throat, like what he would do to his impatient young soldiers.

"Rest assured, children, I will not pounce on Captain Raithon like a 'mad cat', as young Elrohir puts it," he said coolly, earning a glare from the said younger elf. He suppressed a laugh and continued: "Well then, why don't you run along now and bother someone else? You have pestered me long enough for today. I will see you both later at luncheon."

Elladan and Elrohir, particularly the latter, smiled and huffed at the golden elf. The two quickly scampered back into the main house, eager to tell their father and Erestor about their encounter that morning. Glorfindel watched until they disappeared from his sight. Though utterly mischievous and sarcastic, he found them more charming in character than Arwen. The Evenstar, as what the elves called her of late, was as quiet and thoughtful as her father, rather than having Celebrían's eagerness that the brothers had.

Sighing to himself, Glorfindel turned back to his hiding place and blinked—his subject was already gone.

* * *

Every day following Yule, Raithon kept Erynlith's company for most of the day. None of the other elves seemed to mind; Erestor raised his brow and shrugged it off one time, and never mentioned it again. The Silvan elf guards who were with Raithon mingled with that of guards in Imladris, sharing countless stories. Raithon did not dare to question what the contents of Thranduil's envelope were, but he guessed that they were something very personal, judging from how red and puffy Erynlith's eyes were the next day. They usually talked together, with him telling stories ever since her departure from Greenwood; and there was still more to share. He felt obliged not to mention of Celairis's rise to Chief Counselor, on how she _might_ become the Elvenking's consort soon.

Instead, he fed her with other stories.

"You should have seen the look on the counselors' faces," Raithon said as he laughed. "They were too dumbfounded to even speak their minds."

Erynlith laughed with him. "I would have wanted to return to Greenwood, to see how things are going, tra-la."

"We would love to have you back," he answered earnestly, looking into her eyes. He took her hand and laid on his arm, and then continued walking. "Everyone will be talking about Erfaron, and Thranduil would be happy to see you again."

_Really?_ She wanted to ask, but decided not to. She could not get her hopes up too easily. "I would return, but not for him…"

He tilted his head. "What keeps you in Rivendell, Erfaron? Rather, _who_? Is it Erestor?"

Thranduil had once mentioned how Erynlith chose the counselor than him, a rather frustrating choice in the Elvenking's part. He had been so enraged that day that his voice snapped at her. Perhaps it was one of the reasons he did not pursue her; she was too attached to her brother that Thranduil found it hard to compete with him.

She shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. "Not only Erestor, but someone else," and that was the truth.

No matter how hard it was to stable Glorfindel after a night's outburst, she did not mind soothing him thereafter. She did not mind the bruises he left on her when he tried to fight the Balrog again; she did not mind leaving the comfort of her room just to lull him back to sleep. Rather, she loved the idea of being his protector, as his comforter, and as he once referred, his "guiding light".

"You do not mean that tall golden-haired Elda, do you?" Raithon frowned at the thought of it. He had met Glorfindel many times before, either in the Halls or in the barracks. He did not deny that the golden elf was very handsome, soft-spoken and polite—something that would make any maiden swoon—and his face always bright with a smile. But Raithon had also noticed how his eyes would follow Erynlith's trail, as though a shadow.

"Yes, him."

"Oh, that Glor… Glored, uh… what's his name again?"

"Glorfindel." Erynlith laughed.

"I heard from Lord Elrond everything about him." He shrugged as they continued to walk through Celebrían's garden. The small fountain that was there was as equally frozen as the trees and flowers pots around. "Is it true? That he was reborn and sent back from the West? I have never heard of such a thing," he continued, shuddering again at the thought of being reborn.

"He was," she answered. "He believes that he was brought back to serve Elrond. The horror of his death continues to torture him every night, so I cannot leave him."

"Simple." The captain scoffed and his voice sounded disdainful, something that reminded her of Thranduil. "Let someone else do the job. Have another elf attend to him. He seems to be quite the celebrity here, you know. Maidens swoon at the sound of his voice and worship the ground he walked on. You are very lucky to be beside him for many hours a day."

She laughed whole-heartedly. Did she really feel lucky that Glorfindel's attention was darted to no one but her?

"But really—I cannot leave him. You will understand when you see him every night."

"You are fond of him?"

"Everyone is," was her answer. Another truth. With a reborn, mighty Elda prancing around Imladris in all his glory and splendor, who would not adore him? "When do you plan on returning to Greenwood?"

"Next week," he said. "We are required to be back before spring breaks. You should know how impatient our _dear_ Elvenking really is. If not for his counselor's advice, and mine as well, he wouldn't have allowed us to travel. He is far too lazy and uninterested for his own good."

"Sounds like the Thranduil I know," Erynlith said, imagining him seated upon his throne, doing nothing but yawn. "I bet someone keeps him company in the palace?"

Raithon flinched. "Uh-huh, something like that…"

_I shouldn't have asked_. She mentally berated herself.

He glanced over his shoulder and did not fail to notice the shadowy figure between the two pillars. He briefly met the blue eyes of the warrior they were talking about earlier. He looked at Erynlith and murmured, "Does he always do this?"

"Hm? Do what?" She looked where his thumb was pointing, and saw that Glorfindel moved a little to the left, hiding himself. "Oh, not really."

"Looks like a predator ready to pounce." Raithon shuddered. "Are you sure it's safe to be around him?"

She laughed and placed her cold hand on his shoulder. "Of course he is. Perhaps he is just curious."

"I don't feel good when someone stalks us while we talk." He gestured for the stables. "Would you ride with me out to the valley? I am sure Lord Erestor would not mind if you're gone for a few hours."

_Would he not?_ Erynlith glanced at the main house and saw Elrond and Arwen walking together. No sign of her dark-haired brother anywhere. So, looking back at the grinning Sindarin captain, she herself grinned and bolted off to the stables with him.

* * *

It was the Elven-guard's last night in Imladris. Elrond prepared a little feast for the guards and another letter to send his regards to the Elvenking of Greenwood. As per usual, Lindir led the songs that night, but because of Raithon's request, Erynlith joined them. He remembered how he and his guards used to enjoy it when she sang back then in Greenwood, in the outpost, without Thranduil's knowing. The King ought to be jealous right now. The Elven-guard listened well, all the while sipping from their wine.

Glorfindel sat beside Gildor as he watched his friend; it had been a while since she joined the minstrels, and had almost forgotten that she was one. His eyes were solely focused on her, not daring to blink, as though he might miss something of importance. But his mood was grim; he was not very pleased about what he heard earlier that morning. He noted that the song was the Hymn to Elbereth, something that the minstrels in Gondolin had also sung. He could not decide whether which version he liked most. He watched carefully as Erynlith's fingers touched the harp strings, her singing following the lead of Lindir.

Soon, Elrond announced his retirement to his chambers, and the other elves scattered to retire to their own. The minstrels brought their instruments back with them, the Elven-guard returning to the lodge which Elrond had provided them.

As for Glorfindel, he politely bade Gildor goodnight before marching back into his dreaded bedchambers. But as his hand reached out for the knob, he paused momentarily and ran back down the hallway, to the corner where her room was.

Erynlith jumped from in the middle of brushing her hair. She dropped it on the desk and approached him, looking at her friend incredulously.

"Glorfindel, are you alright?" She began, examining his face thoroughly. "Did you try to sleep again?"

What Elrond had told him that morning made him fearful, and thus, he showed up in her room uninvited. His heart was pounding as he reached out for her and embraced her, too tightly for her comfort. Her eyes widened as her face was buried on the crook of his neck, inhaling unique scent of his. He was trembling as he held her possessively.

"Is it true?" His voice was trembling as he was. "Will you really return to Greenwood?"

She was startled. Who told him? She shook her head and tried to escape his grip. But he held her firmly on place, not caring if the door was still open, and the coldness of winter seeping in. She sighed in defeat, her arms dropping to her sides; and she waited until he stopped trembling. Glorfindel was unpredictable. There were many things which could make him smile and happy, and there were things, more than one could guess, that could inflict fear on him. He was like an elfling who needed protection, who needed a mother's comfort every night.

"Please do not go…"

Erynlith smiled. She now realized she was more needed here than in Greenwood. Her hands began to soothe his back again, calming him gradually. "I will not, Glorfindel, leave you behind. Who told you that?"

"Lord Elrond."

"Well, no matter."

She closed the door and pulled him into her bed, the fireplace blazing beside them. They sat on the edge of the bed, facing each other, and she cupped his cheek softly. Glorfindel sighed at her touch and moved his head sideways to kiss her palm. She gasped at the gesture, not expecting it the very least. The reddish-orange glow of the fire made his short golden hair look more golden, and his blue eyes darker. Ever so slowly, Glorfindel scooted closer to her, his right hand reaching out to hold her firmly at her nape. Erynlith shivered at his cold touch and shook as she felt being pulled closer to his face; his warm breath ghosting over her cheeks. He pulled her closer again, and finally she flinched, clutching his tunic in protest.

"May I?" He asked softly, the hold on her nape also softening. Gradually, Erynlith's clutch on his tunic loosened, settling them in his lap.

She did not answer, and he must have interpreted it as a _yes_.

His lips tentatively brushed against hers, feeling her shaking beneath him. Receiving no response, Glorfindel cleared his throat and withdrew immediately, releasing her nape. "I am sorry," he murmured, his cheeks burning with unmasked embarrassment.

Erynlith was finally able to breathe again. Her heart was pounding when she felt something touch her lips. But she could not deny the pleasing sensation it gave. Looking at Glorfindel, she could see how sorry he was for acting too carelessly. His brows were furrowed with worry, and his eyes were pleading for forgiveness. She pushed the strange sensations to the farthest back of her mind, forcing herself to forget it, and smiled reassuringly at the warrior.

"There is nothing to forgive, Glorfindel," she whispered, and he smiled.

He sighed in relief and looked around the room. He wanted to make up for his actions, and so, his eyes fell on the golden harp that sat beside the fireplace. "Is your challenge still open, about me playing a musical instrument?"

"Of course, if you are up for it, tra-lay." Erynlith laughed and went to fetch the harp she had previously played. She dropped it on her lap and the golden elf was obliged to sit closer to her. "Here, anyone can learn this one," she said and began showing him the simple tune of _Elbereth's Hymn_, guiding his fingers through the strings one by one. Both were breathless with laughter from Glorfindel's clumsy mistakes, mixing with the awkward tuning of the song.

At last, their little challenge was over. If Erynlith could dance, Glorfindel could play an instrument. When the strong winds blew the curtains in her room and extinguished the fire, the harp was discarded on the bedside table, and they lay on the bed for several hours. Glorfindel was awake for the rest of the evening, listening to the faint breathing of the lovely elf in his embrace. It was silly for him to attempt such an act, and he was grateful that she shrugged it off cordially. Having enough of combing her umber hair, he kissed her temple and allowed himself to sleep.

With Erynlith around, the demons would not return.

* * *

Raithon was disappointed when Erestor announced that both Erynlith and Glorfindel were still sleeping at the time of their departure. He wanted to share some final words to her before he left; it would probably take another thousand years for them to visit Imladris, especially knowing how moody Thranduil was. At Elrond's bidding, Raithon left some final words to Erynlith and took off, followed by the long line of Silvan elves. Elladan and Elrohir rode out them and escorted them until they reached the start of the High Pass.

Back in Imladris, Glorfindel stirred from his peaceful slumber. His arm was numb for not moving for a few hours, and he yawned quietly. He was temporarily surprised of the weight beside him, and he looked down at her. His friend was still sleeping, curled up like an elfling in his arms, her head resting against his chest. Smiling, Glorfindel closed his eyes and pulled her closer, feeling her snuggle on his chest. He was determined to hold her close like that even for the next thousand years.

He was now contented with his new life, especially when he already found someone to share it with.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** Is Thranduil capable of jealousy? ... Maybe.

**Author's Notes:** Yay for another update! I have been feeling incredibly motivated lately and have written lots of upcoming chapters. Expect weekly updates (like the usual), though if school somehow gets in the way, some chapters could be a little delayed. You know how school can be such a pressure *sighs*

Yup, turns out Erestor's not the only one possessive now, though Glorfindel remains on a lighter scale. And the lovey-dovey part—please don't kill me!

***Mahi'ai** \- We love Greenwood, don't we? Aww. But don't worry, we'll get back there soon enough. Thank you for the review, and nice to meet you!

***Rousdower** \- Don't smack Thrandy with a stick! It took hours to get his hair done! *pats Thrandy's head* There, there my sweet King, don't cry... I'll get your shampoo and conditioner right away. Don't be envious if Glorfy has more fabulous (and shorter) hair than you!

***Frostfire613** \- LOL. I did intend for a long fic, because elves have long lives and I really want to write Thranduil's character from a Prince to the King of Greenwood. So, yeah, it takes a while. Team Glorfindel still going strong? Yes, I think it does! Thanks for the review~!

***melodicechoes** \- Welcome to this story, mortal! LOL. Don't worry; I'll keep on updating as often as my schedule allows it. Thanks for reading!

***Zip001** \- Yes, it does seem like Thranduil gives back all the memories they shared back to her, and it is just too much for her. *cries* I do feel for Glorfindel, too.

***Eirithdiel** \- Yup, so Team Thrandy all the way? LOL. I kind of imagine Thrandy fighting for Eryn's attention, while Glorfy just does it without breaking a sweat, because, at it point, Glorfy knows Eryn better. I'd like to write a chapter like that. :'D

***crazykenz** \- Leave the dramatics to Thrandy. XD Thrandy the moody and Celairis without a sense of humour. It does get a little boring in Greenwood. Thank you for reviewing! I'll be sure to update weekly~!

***Guest**\- Sorry to find out that you're losing interest because of the lack of Thranduil/Erynlith, but it has been my plan all along. Love stories are not always perfect and couples often have misunderstandings. Some have obstacles; in this case, the other characters (e.g. Erestor, Glorfindel) who are stopping them to be together are the obstacles, and maybe Thranduil and Erynlith themselves. No one has the initiative. Rest assured, though (if this counts as a spoiler), Thranduil and Eryn would sure meet again. Then again, thanks for being so honest! And thank you for leaving a review!

***peinisimo **\- OMG, I'm sorry! Please forgive me!

**P.S.** Thank you for reading! Have a good day ahead! (~￣3￣)~


	45. That Elvenking, Jealous?

**Chapter 45**

_**That Elvenking, Jealous?**_

* * *

Santien looked up from her work. She expected the arrival of Raithon soon, but her hopes went downhill when the Elvenking made himself comfortable in the infirmary. It was larger than what they had in the South; the room was located on the lower halls, near the underground stream and barracks. White beds were lined up on both sides, with the Elvenking casually sitting on one, near the auburn-haired healer.

"If you are not wounded in any way, you are free to leave." Her insensitive voice came, and the King only laughed.

Thranduil propped his chin lazily as he looked up at his long-time friend. "Oh, come now," he crooned at her, earning a glare this time. "Are you not happy that I am here? I haven't seen you for a while now. And why do you _always_ sound so cold to me?"

The Elvenking was not there; it was Thranduil who was there with her—the cheeky Sindarin elf.

"You ought to busy yourself with more important matters." Her hazel eyes rolled at him. She was in the middle of mixing herbs that Amardís had gathered long before the winter came; for a healer like Santien, she found it troublesome to lose herbs and fruits during winter, especially when wolves and larger Wargs thrived in the forest to hunt. She looked at him and said, "Or perhaps you have shared another argument with your dark counselor. Celairis has been working too much, I presume?"

He shrugged at that thought. It seemed even Santien noticed how Celairis buried herself in her duties, that she was more engrossed with her work than anybody else—well, except for her beloved King of course. However, even Thranduil found it stressful and rather bland. It had been _centuries_ since he felt adrenaline rush, and he was certain Celairis never liked doing that. She would rather lock herself in the library scouring for books, or bent over her desk and rewriting every letter that King Amroth was sending them.

"An industrious lady," he finally commented, and suppressed a yawn.

Santien had seen through it. "Forgive me if I am boring you," came her almost sarcastic reply.

"Not at all," he answered, smirking. "I quite enjoy your company, Lady Santien." He laughed heartily when the healer scoffed and threw a roll of bandages at him. He leaned back against the head board and sighed. "The throne has been too cold lately. I do not feel like sitting on it. You do not mind if I stay here for another couple of hours? I swear not to interrupt your work. I feel lonely and no one is to keep me company. The counselors are too loud for my liking. Anyway, the Elven-guard is sure to arrive anytime soon. I think I will wait for them here."

She considered his plea for a moment. True enough, the Elvenking was too lonely. Although Celairis took much of his time, he was still unsatisfied by her attention. She often wondered, and even wanted to ask, if Thranduil should pledge himself to Celairis already. It had been years for him, and Greenwood was stable enough. Everyone thought he was going to propose to his counselor on _Aduial en Meleth_, a fitting way to continue the affair, but Thranduil showed no initiative at all.

She watched quietly as Thranduil closed his eyes, his silken scarlet robe falling loosely from his shoulders to pool at his lap. As quiet as he was, the King looked handsome and youthful enough to catch the attention of many.

"Suit yourself," she whispered, but she knew he could not hear anymore. The King's mind wandered now into a sweet reverie.

* * *

In a few hours that followed, Thranduil was shaken off by Santien, announcing that the Elven-guard had arrived. Yawning audibly, he fixed his robe and marched back into the palace where he would receive the captain. The drawing-room was already prepared by the attendants; a bottle of wine was there to accommodate the exhausted captain. The grand velvet couch in which the King would sit on was dusted off, and the curtains were drawn back to let the sun illuminate the seldom-used room. There was a large hearth that sat in the middle of the room, in front of the small wooden table where the wine was placed.

Thranduil dropped himself lazily on the couch, watching as the servants excused themselves from the drawing-room. The Elven-horn sounded this time, and the large double doors were opened. Raithon was already smiling even before he stepped inside the room and bowed to the Elvenking. The other elf guards bowed and greeted, and then returned to the barracks, carrying their gears with them. Without words, Raithon slumped on the couch.

This was not the Elvenking; it was Thranduil—his childhood friend.

"How's Imladris?" Thranduil casually asked, pouring wine into his glass and offering one to his friend. He had removed the crown of leaves from his head: having been freed of its weight was relaxing.

Raithon smiled. "Oh, it is beautiful in winter. You should have seen how the courtyard was blanketed under the thick snow, how the windows are frosted, and how captivating the frozen waterfalls are. You _really_ should have seen them."

Thranduil rolled his eyes. "Not Imladris itself! But the people! Tell me what has changed except from Elrond's marriage to Celebrían."

"For starters, their sons are mischievous and energetic, much like their mother," the captain began, recounting how the brothers pestered him throughout their stay. He sipped from his wine and continued: "Very mischievous if you asked me, always sneaking in the kitchens and poking someone else's cheek. Lord Elrond is quite exasperated with them. There was also Arwen: a beautiful, quiet, thoughtful girl, just like Elrond. She is such a sight even for strangers to see. She knows the arts, music and literature; Elrond and Erestor must have taught her well."

The King nodded pensively. "And the others?"

There it was: Raithon's moment to torment his friend. He hid a devious smile curling on his lips. "Well, Gildor and Lindir are no different than the last time. Lord Erestor, however, seems to have turned a new leaf. He is no longer Captain of Rivendell, but now a Chief Counselor to Elrond. I can imagine why he wound forsake such a duty. His battle in Mordor was the last time for him. And he is quite good at being a counselor; he has always been intelligent and sharp-tongued. He has become more slender, but still tall nonetheless, after the years."

"The _others_, Raithon," Thranduil scoffed impatiently.

"What others?" The captain asked innocently, sparing his friend an innocent look. He was waiting for a name to be mentioned, but as proud as Thranduil was, perhaps he would not do so. And he was sharper than any of the elves in Greenwood. When the King glared at him, scowling under his breath, Raithon laughed.

"Do not make fun of me," the King warned.

"Well," the captain continued his narration. "There is one elf in Imladris that has caught everyone's attention. His name was… wait, Glor, something…" He knew pronouncing the name was difficult. "Glorf… Ah, Glorfindel!" He beamed enthusiastically. "His name is Glorfindel!"

"Oh? What makes him special then?" Thranduil sighed in boredom.

"He is said to be reborn from death," Raithon answered, feeling the King flinch beside him. "He arrived in Middle-earth a almost a year ago, during the spring, I believe. I heard from Elrond he arrived with five more others from the West, though I do not know who they are. He serves as Elrond's right-hand now, the Captain of Rivendell. Everyone basically adores him there; it was said he slew a Balrog in the olden days and saved a great deal of his people." He could go on and on describing how magnificent Glorfindel was in their first meeting. Thus, he continued: "Everyone looks out for him you know, especially Erfaron."

Thranduil choked on his wine and spilled some droplets on his elegant robe. He wiped some that trickled from his chin and glared at Raithon. "_Erfaron_ looks out for him?"

"Yes." The captain leaned back on the soft couch and shrugged. "It was really hard for him to adjust in his new life, and he relies on Erfaron to help him. She doesn't seem to mind though. I asked her to travel back with us but she declined, saying that the seneschal needs her more than she is needed here." He laughed quietly. "You know how selfless she can be… Uh, Thranduil?"

The Elvenking was seething as he drank on his wine, teeth biting at the rim of the glass, and the captain swore he could hear the glass breaking.

"Thranduil, relax!" Raithon tapped his friend's shoulder, and grinned. "She is only helping him! And I thought you have moved on? Seems to me that you haven't."

"Oh, do shut up." Thranduil snorted. "So, Erfaron takes care of Elrond's seneschal, like the little _helpless_ elfling that he is?"

"I wouldn't call him helpless," Raithon said carefully, now sensing the fury of his friend. "I mean, Erfaron herself said that it was hard for him to connect two lives in one."

"I could care less." Thranduil growled, his pale blue eyes glaring at the doors up ahead. "Did you give the envelope?"

His friend thought for a moment. "Ah, yes, I did. What were the contents anyway? Her eyes were puffy the next day. Surely, whatever you said in the letter made her cry. You did not say anything mean to her again, did you?"

"Hm, she cried?" the King mused. "I wished I was there to see her. Did she say anything else?"

"I don't think so," said Raithon. "She was sleeping with Lord Glorfindel when we left Imladris."

"She was _what_?" Thranduil almost choked on his wine again. Good thing he saved his robe from being soaked this time. He set the glass aside and narrowed his eyes fiercely. "She was _sleeping_ with the seneschal?"

The captain shrugged. "I know right? Sleeping in the same room, but not really _sleeping_. Do you get what I mean? Lord Elrond does not give it a big deal. Erestor does, though, and he is not very pleased with it. I think there was a time when he punched Glorfindel, or something along those lines."

"If I was Erestor, I would never let her sleep with the seneschal, let alone _touch_ her."

"Too bad you are not there," Raithon simpered. "You sound like an overly jealous—"

"Enough!" Thranduil snapped and stood up from the couch, surprising his captain. He glared down and said, "I have heard enough. I will return to the throne room now. Celairis must be looking for me already." He crossed the drawing-room in long strides and disappeared, leaving his captain laughing at his tease.

"Jealous," Raithon murmured under his breath.

"I _heard_ that!"

* * *

**Next Chapter:** Sometimes, Glorfindel just couldn't handle pressure.

**Author's Notes:** Hello, everybody! I loved writing this chapter, though I am so sorry it is not much. I'll keep this note short because I have chores to attend to. (Really, I need a break from school and chores and whatnot!) Hope everyone enjoyed this little chapter featuring Thrandy the jelly Elvenking!

***Overlord Rousdower** \- Ooh, I just noticed your changed name. Now you are officially my Overlord Rousy! *bows* How may I serve milord Rousy? Don't bully Thrandy over Eryn's decisions! Thrandy is such a cute little elfling. *pats Thrandy on the head*

***Zip001** \- Gildor has nothing to do so I think knitting scarves is a pasttime of his. I laughed out loud when I read about Raithon taking over Eryn's "daylight" hours. That's actually a good one! Yeah, I guess Eryn _does_ like to know that she was needed, just like how she was needed when Thranduil was burned and he depended solely on her. Well, it all depends on how we interpret it. So you're going with Team Glorfy? LOL. Thank you for the review~!

***only-one-mirkwood-princess** \- Yes. I am actually brainwashing you and making you ship Eryn/Glorfy instead! Jaja. ¡Muchas gracias!

***Eirithdiel** \- So-so between Team Thrandy and Team Glorfy, huh? We all need Glorfy snuggles! I want to snuggle with someone like Glorfy! *squeals in delight* I'll make sure to write an intense chapter wherein Thrandy and Glorfy are basically glaring at each other. XD Thanks for the review!

***Asmodeus Black** \- Black, I've missed you~! *hugs you tightly* It's good to have you back. And I am glad you enjoyed the previous chapter! High five for jelly Thrandy! Thank you for dropping a review!


	46. The Exhausted Captain

**Chapter 46**

_**The Exhausted Captain**_

* * *

Inspired from the complete discipline that Raithon had over his more than hundred guards, Elrond was resolved to have Imladris's guards as disciplined as that of Greenwood's. Though not very competitive by nature, he wanted to see how his guards would fit, especially under the supervision of Glorfindel. And so, after a whole night of meeting with Glorfindel, Erestor, and Gildor, it was decided that the training of the guards would be sterner. Glorfindel had given his word to be hard on the guards by the time their training began. At Elrond's request, Elladan and Elrohir were to join; the brothers were taught how to handle a bow even when they were younger, and Elrond wanted them to learn warfare from the great Glorfindel himself. Erestor had agreed on this decision, and then retired in his chambers quickly.

After the meeting, Glorfindel slipped into Erynlith's room to tell her about what Elrond had in mind. He warned that he would be too busy and that they would not see each other that much for the upcoming days. Erynlith had only smiled and wished him good luck of his duty, and he had kissed her forehead and left for his room. Though not completely confident, Glorfindel wanted to believe he was ready to be alone. If he was not, he was always welcomed to join Erynlith in her room.

No one was against that kind of relationship, a friendly one Elrond had remarked before; but Erestor was ever doubtful, his instincts shooting up through the roof. There was one time he confronted Glorfindel again, and he had said, "Do not try pushing your luck any further."

And Glorfindel did not. Not yet, at least.

Today's training was steadfast and exhausting. The young guards were too eager to learn from the captain, and with the nonstop mischief from Elladan and Elrohir, Glorfindel's outmost energy was depleted. He led the patrol over the whole valley the following night, with the inexperienced guards hurling themselves at the darkness, earning scratches, bruises, and bumps. As captain, he was responsible on retuning them back to the keep immediately.

He found himself panting in the farthest corner of the barracks, gripping a nearby railing as he caught his breath. His golden hair was pulled up in a high ponytail throughout the training. He reached up and undid the simple hairstyle, raking his fingers between golden tresses. His hair had grown after a month of the incident: from his shoulders, it now fell loosely down to the middle of his back, while Erynlith's was still an inch or two shorter than his.

"Captain Glorfindel," a kind guard called out behind him. "You should retire to your chambers now. I can take the responsibility of taking the horses back into the stables."

"Thank you," Glorfindel panted. As the guard nodded and left, he realized that he was thirsty, too thirsty. _Water_, he thought and looked around the corner. There was nothing. He must have left his water skin somewhere out in the fields.

The exhausted captain stripped himself off the sweaty tunic and donned a new one, and then trudged back into the main house, too exhausted that he could not see straight. But he knew _exactly_ where he was going: where to turn and which hallway to take. The corridors were well-lighted enough for him to see some signs on the doors; each elf had different door patterns as he remembered. Almost stumbling off his footing, he pushed a small single door open and entered the room uninvited.

"Mmm." Glorfindel sighed as he fell on the bed. His weight made the bed creak, but he did not care. His whole body was aching, thighs and legs too worn out from the whole day of training and night of patrol. As he moved closer to the middle of the bed, he felt someone else's weight.

This was not his bed.

Lazily opening one eye, Glorfindel could see a blurry image of dark hair. He closed his eye again and scooted closer until his nose touched and whiffed a familiar forest scent, and he smiled and tossed his arm around the elf's waist. He spooned up behind her and pressed close, ready to fall into his long awaited rest. However, as reverie took him, he felt an elbow nudging gently at his stomach, pushing him away.

"Glorfindel…" Erynlith mumbled and pressed a pillow on her face. "Back to your room…"

But the golden elf did not hear. Instead, he wrapped his left arm firmly around her waist and leaned his face against her shoulder. He began to doze off again when—

"Back to your room, Glorfindel…"

He answered nothing. Erynlith nudged her elbow on his chest more forcefully, sliding his body away from hers as she buried her face under the pillow. She mumbled something when his right arm insisted around her waist, his face pressing close on her shoulder again.

"Glorfindel…"

"Sleep…" came his groggy reply.

Beneath her pillow, Erynlith smiled tiredly. It was one of those rare times when Glorfindel was too exhausted that he was willing to sleep, forgetting the horror of his nightmares. Perhaps it was good to have him exhausted all the time, so that he would plod back to his own bedchambers and sleep. But tonight, that was not the case.

She shifted on the bed but still did not face him. "Bed's not big enough, Glorfindel."

Her bed could only accommodate one person, perhaps two if you were as lean as Erestor. However, Glorfindel was tall and muscular, a true build of a warrior. Although her bed had made room for her before, she wanted to have her bed for herself tonight.

He shook his head, his nose brushing her shoulder and almost tickled her back to her senses. "Tomorrow…"

"What?" Erynlith chuckled and looked behind her. His face was flushed with exhaustion; his eyelids too heavy to even open. Again, she tried pushing him off. It would be scandalous enough if the elves found out that their seneschal admitted himself into her room and slept with her. It was not one of the cases when he would have his nighttime fits; it was an ordinary night for both of them. _And what would Erestor say?!_ She could already imagine the furious look on his face.

"Sleep," Glorfindel mumbled again. His arm held her waist tighter. "Let us sleep…"

She yawned and sighed in defeat, ignoring the warm breath that tickled her nape.

* * *

Elrond waited at the breakfast table expectantly. Almost everyone was gathered there: his three children, Celebrían, Gildor, and Erestor. Unfortunately, Lindir had some business elsewhere. Elrond had to keep the probing hands of Elladan and Elrohir away from the breakfast. They were a family, and family members had to wait for the others.

"Maybe you should look for them," Celebrían offered. "The patrol returned rather late last night. Perhaps Lord Glorfindel is still asleep?"

"Impossible." Erestor snorted and stood up from his seat. "I will fetch Erynlith from her room."

"I am coming," said Elrond.

The two elves wound through the long hallways. They bumped into Firianath, one of Celebrían's young handmaidens. She smiled, like she always did to her superiors. When asked about Glorfindel's whereabouts, she blinked and remembered seeing the tall elf plodding down into the hallway and entering Erynlith's room. At that, Erestor seethed and stomped angrily until he reached the room. Behind him, both Elrond and Firianath followed, due to her own curiosity. Was it possible for the Lord Glorfindel to sleep in Erynlith's room?

Sparing glances at each other, it was Elrond who knocked and was surprised at the immediate response. Erynlith yawned as she opened the door, blinking at the sight of them.

"Morning, Elrond, Erestor, tra-la-la…" She sang sleepily.

"Good morning, Eryn," Elrond greeted back, smiling. "Breakfast is ready and we are wondering if you have seen Lord Glorfindel? We are told that he admitted himself here late at night."

Before she could answer, Firianath pushed Erynlith aside and gasped. Glorfindel was sprawled in the middle of the bed, right arm covering his closed eyes from the sunlight that spilled from the windows. His golden hair spread over his pillows and his shoulders. He was still sleeping very soundly; Erynlith could not bring it to herself to wake him up.

Firianath turned back to Erynlith with a look of disbelief. "… How could you…?"

"What?" was all she could ask the other elf. Glorfindel sleeping on her bed was probably the most impossible thing, but nothing really happened last night. All they did was _sleep_.

Erestor growled and went his way towards Glorfindel. Erynlith grabbed his sleeve and shook her head.

"Please, Erestor, do not start," she scolded.

And again, Elrond interrupted. "Lord Erestor, let us return to the dining halls. I am sure Erfaron and Glorfindel will follow." He tapped the counselor's shoulder lightly; and Erestor sighed and followed. If there was one person he could not disobey, that was Elrond. The two elves left the room, and Erynlith looked at Firianath in wonder.

Firianath still looked flabbergasted that Glorfindel was sleeping on the bed. And there was something more written in her face that Erynlith could not place. Was it disgust? Bewilderment? Or jealousy? Erynlith decided not to pursue it. And so, after yawning indiscreetly again, she moved over to close the door on her, but Firianath pushed her aside. Erynlith was too surprised to even react properly. She had fallen onto the ground before even realizing that Firianath pushed her on purpose. She gave the younger elf a sour look as she stood up; and Firianath raised her hand to hit her.

But the blow was interrupted.

Firianath felt a strong grip on her wrist, tightening so dangerously as she met the eyes of the golden warrior.

Glorfindel was standing in between them—his right hand gripped Firianath's wrist while his left arm shoved Erynlith behind him protectively. His blue eyes pierced the handmaiden beneath him, and Firianath snatched her wrist away from the glaring warrior.

"Do not strike her again," Glorfindel threatened. "_Ever_."

"F-Forgive me, Lord Glorfindel. I… I did not mean to…" Firianath managed to say and bolted off.

When he turned to her, Erynlith felt safe and secured, his tall build hovering her. He smiled at her, and then yawned and rubbed his eyes like a child; his anger dissipated just as quickly as it had come. The bed was already fixed when her eyes fell on it, and she was impressed. If Glorfindel had the time to fix her bed, he sure had time to confront Firianath. He sat back on the edge of the bed, slipped his boots and brushed his golden hair briefly. Erynlith watched as he prepared himself in her room. At a moment's notice, he was prepared to share breakfast with her.

As she closed the door behind her, she asked, "So, dearest captain, are you still sleepy, tra-la?"

He laughed. "Not anymore. But if I get exhausted again, is there any chance for me to sleep in your room again?"

Erynlith pushed him away and broke into a run. "Not unless you want Erestor running after you with a knife!"

* * *

**Next Chapter:** Amroth insists that Erynlith should go to Lorinand. So she does, and meets someone unsettling.

**Author's Notes:** I was in the middle of finishing a research paper, when I got the chance to snoop in and update. We are going back to Lorinand next chapter so stay tuned! Thank you for everyone who read and reviewed last chapter! (Seriously though, I can't wait to update next week!)

***Asmodeus Black** \- Yaaay! I am glad you loved jelly Thrandy! It was fun writing him acting like that! XD

***Overlord Rousdower** \- You are the one and rightful Overlord! *insert evil laughter* *chokes* Shall we torment Thranduil even more, m'lord?

***Zip001** \- Good observation, Zip! (◕ฺ ▿ฺ ◕ฺ) Even when Oropher still lives, I had Thranduil portrayed as someone bored (partially because Elves have long lives and something exciting doesn't happen every day). I think what he liked about Eryn was her vivacity at that time, which Celairis obviously lacks. Now, he is returning to that bored state. He needs to feel the adrenaline! LOL.

Aside from that rant, Raithon does a good job pouring oil into the fire. He likes to tease and tease and laugh, which often annoys Thrandy. Santien doesn't do any better; she is as grumpy as Thrandy.

***only-one-mirkwood-princess** \- Thranduil vs Glorfindel, hm? Worry not, dearest! In just a couple more chapters, we are heading in that direction!

***bettsam0731** \- We are getting there, my friend! Don't worry! XD

***Eirithdiel** \- Mm-hmm! Imagine Thrandy covered in jelly! That looks... _appetizing_? LOL. I shall have one chapter with Thrandy and Glorfy glaring and flipping hair at each other, to see who has better locks!

***Mark wright** \- If you're using desktop, it is possible to enlarge the font by pressing the **A+** sign at the beginning of each chapter. Hope this helps!

***SparklesJustReads** \- Your review literally made me go "Awww". I am glad that, despite all the others disliking Celairis, someone still notices her and what her character is. Thranduil acknowledges and gives her credit for what she is doing for Greenwood, but just like Amroth told him before, he sees her as someone next to Eryn. I know it sounds bad for Thrandy, but things happen. He is a moody jerk. Nah, just kidding. If Eryn/Thrandy end up, I cannot imagine Glorfy/Celairis together. But I'll find a way. Thank you for caring for Celairis! ╲(｡◕‿◕｡)╱

***May East** \- The story is nowhere close to end, so we get to see how the relationship turns out. Even if Eryn chooses Thrandy, we still have Glorfy to share! ;)

***Lord Illyren** \- Thank you for reading! I am glad you enjoy the story. Which team are you rooting for? LOL.


	47. To Lórinand

**Chapter 47**

_**To Lórinand**_

* * *

The first millennium of the Third Age had gone by.

Glorfindel's first three hundred years were not so bad at all—his life continued as it was, and he was grateful that the nightmares had not returned that often. He was able to be more confident and slip into his own reverie without asking for someone's company. The forces of Rivendell prospered under his strict supervision, and Elrond prided himself for having such an excellent captain.

Every once in a few decades, Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn would arrive to visit their daughter and grandchildren; Celebrían knew her parents were fond of her children. And when their visit was over, the two High Elves would return either to Lindon or to Lórinand where they were always welcomed by the King. In those years as well, Olórin began to travel abroad Middle-earth. His travels made him famous in the lands, now going by the name of Mithrandir among the elves. He would often visit his companions, preferably the White one called Saruman, in Minas Tirith.

One summer evening, the family was eating dinner when one of the scouts arrived. It was Glorfindel who stood up and attended to his scout, talking with him in a hushed voice. Then, speaking rapidly in Elvish, the scout pulled out a letter from the folds of his tunic.

"_Hannon le_." Glorfindel patted him on the shoulder and jogged back to the dining halls.

Erestor narrowed his eyes at once. "What was that all about, Lord Captain?"

Unable to save himself from the clutches of the sharp counsellor, Glorfindel sighed in defeat and waved the letter so everyone in the table would see.

"A message from Lórinand," he announced, sliding the letter towards Erynlith. "King Amroth asks for your attendance, Eryn."

"For what?" Erestor snapped, detesting that the letter did not come through him first.

"Must be something personal," Elrond interjected. "You are excused for dinner, Eryn. Go ahead."

Erynlith grinned and went out of the halls, holding the letter close to her heart.

* * *

In the morning that followed, the Chief Counselor rose earlier than usual. He fixed the bed, neatly folded the blankets and tucked the pillows near the headboard, brushed and plaited his long dark hair, and finally, donned his robes that were always a shade of black, grey, or very dark blue. When he was finished, he sighed heavily, watching as his chest rise and fall at the movement. Again, he breathed, now keeping his grey eyes locked upon his reflection in the mirror. As much as he hated to admit what was to happen today, Erestor had _failed_ to keep Erynlith from leaving.

Today, as Elrond predicted that weather would be nice, Erynlith was bound to Lórinand, as what King Amroth requested in his letter. She had been excited and somehow worried last night, though she did sprint back towards her chamber to pack her things. Erestor, feeling a familiar instinct to watch over her, had initially refused.

"You cannot keep her here all the time," Elrond had told him in the Halls of Fire last night. "If her cousin wants to see her, and if _she_ wants it as well, there is nothing you can do, my friend."

The Chief Counselor remembered crossing his arms over his chest, and huffed. "It is dangerous to go through the High Pass. Without a companion, Eryn would surely—"

"Be in trouble?" Elrond interjected, observing the stubborn look of his long-time friend. He sighed and caressed his temple, thinking of a way to persuade the ever cautious counselor. "She has become quite a help these past centuries, would you not agree? All these years she has been going around, helping in the barracks, in the kitchens, sometimes in Celebrían's gardens. She scouted with the guards, hunted with Elladan and Elrohir for so long I have forgotten thanking her for keeping an eye on those two."

Erestor huffed again, louder this time.

"What I am trying to say is," Elrond drawled, letting the words sink into his friend's mind, "that Erynlith has been helping us one way or another, but we never get around thanking her for all the efforts. I cannot recall a time when she would demand to be thanked, or to be repaid for everything she has done." He cleared his throat, still observing the counselor. "You could _at least_ give her the freedom to visit King Amroth."

"It is dangerous to go alone," Erestor repeated stubbornly.

"We send the brothers with her. It should suffice."

"No. Elladan and Elrohir cannot hunt a pack of thirty wargs, or a band of orcs while watching over her."

Elrond felt a pang in his chest, knowing that his Chief Counselor did not trust the abilities of his sons. Yet, he pushed the thoughts and feelings aside, as he focused on the matter at hand. "If not Elladan and Elrohir, I could send Lord Glorfindel with her," he said, now feeling a little jubilant when Erestor's face showed a hint of relief.

Still, the counselor was ever dauntless. "No, Glorfindel has duties here. He cannot simply leave and go as he pleases."

_What to do, what to do?_ Elrond would have given up on this conversation, but he remembered how Erynlith beamed when she found out that she would return to Lórinand after so many centuries. He cannot, for the life of him, understand why Erestor does not agree. _What was so dangerous in visiting a cousin?_

Now, in the bright morning, the Chief Counselor spared one last glance at his reflection, saw the stranger with dark rims under his eyes, and went out of his chambers.

Erestor found some of the elves in the courtyard. He saw Elrond and Celebrían talking to the scouts, Elladan and Elrohir pulling at each other's braids like little children, Arwen smiling so quietly. In the other corner, Glorfindel sauntered towards the centre, bringing in the large white stallion intended to be used for the journey. Beside him, Erynlith appeared, wearing her usual blue tunic and black breeches, and was huddled under a dark cloak. Erestor continued to watch as the umber-haired minstrel cooed at the stallion and fed him an apple.

"She is ready to depart," Celebrían cheerfully told Erestor, twining her arm with his. She leaned her silver head on his shoulder. "You should not glare so early in the morning."

"I am not glaring," Erestor said defensively.

After a while of studying the situation, he finally let go of Celebrían and approached Erynlith.

Everyone seemed to have faded into the background. There was only him, the Chief Counselor so old that he had lived through the First, Second and now, living in the Third Age; and her, the minstrel so young that she had only lived two thousand years of her life, and yet, compared to Erestor, Glorfindel and Elrond, she seemed like a child, like the rest of the others.

"I will be gone only for a few weeks," Erynlith began, smiling up at him in reassurance. She touched his cheek and tapped his nose. "Do not be sad, Brother mine, tra-la."

"I wish I could come with you, to keep watch." He opened his arms and embraced her tightly but gently. He caught whiff of her forestry scent; she must have walked through the woods before he even woke up. His chin rested upon her forehead, and for a while, Erestor did not want to let her go. He wished time would go by slowly, so that he may cherish her while she was still young and free.

She broke apart from the embrace, and tiptoed to kiss his cheek. "No need to worry, tra-lay," she told him. "I only have to see what Amroth has been doing and after that, I will come back as soon as possible. I promise, tra-la."

"You should." He nodded and kissed her forehead.

When their brief farewell seemed to be over, Glorfindel walked towards her just as Erestor was leaving, and he swore he saw the counselor shoot a glare at him. Ignoring that, the warrior examined the stallion's saddle and bridle, and then looked down at his friend.

"Are you sure you want to go alone? I could accompany you as far as the High Pass."

"It's really fine, Glorfindel." She laughed a little. "Why does everyone look so worried? It is only Lórinand. If trouble comes, I am sure the marchwardens would be there for me, tra-lo."

He nodded, looking unconvinced. "Of course."

Erynlith dismissed the concern in his voice and pulled a sheet of paper from her pocket. "Here," she cheerfully sang, handing him the parchment. "If your nightmares ever return—just in case they would—I wrote a little song. I also left my harp at your bedside table so you could play the song to yourself if you cannot sleep."

Utterly warmed by the thought, Glorfindel smiled fondly and looked at the handwritten song:

_Night-time Is Here_

_For Glorfindel_

_Night time is here, you're starting to yawn, _

_For now is the time to sleep until dawn, _

_So lie down beside me, rest your little head, _

_It's now time to shhh, for the world's gone to bed._

_Night time is here, the suns gone away, _

_And now it's your turn to rest from the day, _

_Dream all night through till morning draws near, _

_Until we meet again, when night time is here._

"Well, I suppose it doesn't sound so convincing," Erynlith doubtfully whispered, watching as her friend read the song again and again. She was about to take the paper from him when he snatched it away from her grasp.

He smiled at her. "Thank you for this beautiful piece. I shall keep this in my room until you return."

"Ah, for a moment there I thought you disliked it, tra-lo." She laughed.

When one of the scouts blew on the horn, it was the signal for her to leave the valley.

"Until we meet again, Eryn." Glorfindel took her hand and kissed it.

* * *

It took her less than a week to cross the High Pass. The last time she had been here, if she remembered correctly, was when the Last Alliance returned from Greenwood to Rivendell. That had been almost two thousand years ago. It was funny to think how time flew so easily that no one noticed it—Erestor switched from Captain to Chief Counselor, Elladan and Elrohir had reached maturity, and so did Arwen. Gildor remained travelling from Lindon to Eregion and vice versa, Lindir had recently become the apple of the maiden's eyes (instead of Glorfindel), while Erynlith herself... well, nothing much really changed about her.

She kept her pace neutral while passing. She did not want to attract attention, would it be either dwarves or orcs. She did not want her delightful white stallion to stumble on sharp rocks and injured himself. So far, her journey had been so peaceful and quiet. For a moment, she felt free and independent again.

When her horse began to pant, she knew it was time for a break.

Erynlith slipped from the saddle and led her horse on foot until she could see Lórinand at a distance. It felt as though her heart was screaming for joy, and she wanted to run ahead. However, looking at the tired creature that bore her for almost a week of endless riding, she felt sorry for it.

Up ahead, she saw two intersecting rivers. Waters rushed so fast that she feared she might drown, so her distance from the rocky shore was more than enough. Her grip on the reins tightened, her eyes cautiously glancing here and there, in case of trouble. When nothing emerged from the thorny bushes or leapt from the river, she sighed and continued to lead her horse towards an oval-shaped lake. Before the eager horse could dip its large head into the water, she removed the bridle first.

"There, there now." Her hand ran up and down on the strong muzzle, as the stallion drank his fill. She waited for a while, kneeling at the edge of the lake.

When her eyes fell on the water, she was surprised to see no reflection. She blinked once, and then twice. Still nothing. She looked at the horse and saw no reflection as well. Her finger carefully dipped into the clear water; no reflection even at that, only the ripples of the water where her finger had been. Curious more than ever, she placed her hands flat on the lakeshore and leaned in. Still no reflection.

"Hey, you!" Someone was shouting in his deep, throaty voice. "What do you think you're doing, ayuh?!"

Hurriedly, and a little frightened, Erynlith withdrew from the edge and looked up. She was confused for a moment; a stunted creature was trudging towards her, his heavy footfalls sounded like the very earth was shaking underneath his iron boots. He stopped on the other side of the lake, just across her, and held up an axe as heavy and tall as he was. Then, another one came into view; a big-boned creature with thick, dark hair and bushy eyebrows, with a scar across his left cheek and a mace strapped behind his back.

It had been so many years, but Erynlith knew Dwarves when she saw them.

"What are you doing in _our_ lake?!"

Confused, Erynlith looked behind her and found no one.

"What are ye, _stoo-pid_?" The second dwarf with the scar grinned at her, as his voice slurred the word stupid. "Of course we are talkin' to you!"

"You get out of our property right now!" said the first dwarf, holding up his axe even higher, in case she did not see before. "This lake is ours—to the line of Durin's Folk! We aren't going to share our lake with you scrawny Elves! Go back to your forest unless you want another good beating like the last one!"

Erynlith paused, realizing that the Dwarves of Moria had actually hurt someone from Lórinand. Who was it? Did Amroth send for her because of this conflict?

Looking up and meeting the dark eyes of the two muscled dwarves, she could do nothing but kneel on the lakeshore. She felt rather vexed at the thought of someone hurt—someone from Lórinand—and the vexation feeling slowly turned into that of silent rage. King Amdír, her uncle, had told her countless times that Dwarves were never to be trusted, that they were troublesome creatures that needed to be avoided at all costs. She didn't understand him then; now she did.

She reached out for her white bow, and at the slightest of her movements, the two dwarves stepped forward, as though ready to rush in and seize her.

"Leave now, Elf!" the second dwarf repeated.

_But if I move, you will attack me_. She knelt there, eyes locked with the dwarves. Then, in one swift masterful motion, she unstrapped her bow and aimed her arrow at the first dwarf, whose axe was raised higher. When the second one moved, her aim turned to him. Her arm stretched the string, ready to fire to whoever would dare attack her. She found out that she cannot turn around and mount her horse without being grabbed by the dwarves and grappled by them. Yet she cannot stay there, in this compromising position, all day.

Annoyed now, the second dwarf also unstrapped his mace and pounded the iron head on his calloused palm. "Leave now or _we_ will force you to leave, She-elf!"

She neither moved nor blinked. When the second dwarf shrugged and leapt towards her, screaming a loud battle cry and raising his mace above his head, she was prepared to take him down then and there—

Until a swift arrow flew between her and the dwarf, and was embedded on the ground.

Suddenly, she was surrounded by the cloaked Elves of Lórinand. Each one was beside her, as though protecting her until she was pushed out of the way of harm. She gave them an incredulous look, not expecting to be saved at the nick of time, but somehow, she was also relieved.

At the head of the company, a Marchwarden approached. He was tall and lean, with silver-gold hair that fell to his back, cold and sharp blue-grey eyes that glared menacingly at dwarves. In his right hand he held a bow, in his left a horn, and strapped across his back was a quiver filled with arrows. He walked until he was close enough to see the dwarves sneering at him, and he sneered back at them.

"You are in no position to threaten one of our people," the Marchwarden began. His voice was aloof and commanding.

The first dwarf with the axe and iron boots snorted. "Better keep your part of the agreement until everything is settled."

"Until then, you have no rights to threaten us," the Marchwarden returned coolly.

Glaring in defeat, the two dwarves plodded back towards the other direction and entered Moria through a round entrance.

After a few moments of silence, the Marchwarden finally turned around and headed back to his company. Only then did Erynlith realize that she had never met him before. He seemed to be as lean as Erestor, only that his arms were more defined possibly due to years of training, whereas Erestor had given up on training for more counselor duties. She noticed his face, that youthful and handsome face that she had never seen before. And that fact irked her.

"What do you think you are doing?" the Marchwarden snapped at her.

She flinched at his cold voice, and felt everyone's eyes on her. "I was on my way to Lórinand when—"

"You are not from around here?"

"No. King Amroth has asked for me though. I wonder if he—"

"Are you from Greenwood then?" His blue-grey eyes assessed her.

"No." She bit her lip upon hearing the name.

"Rivendell?"

She beamed at him. "Yes."

The Marchwarden's eyes gradually widened at some realization Erynlith could not place. He stood there for a moment, right in front of her, as though she said something that was between incredibly amazing or utterly stupid. Then, the young warden was silent, letting the wind blew his silky tresses, ignoring the curious glances from his companions. He could feel something swelling in the pit of his stomach, like butterflies—but it was just a metaphor; he didn't _actually_ know what butterflies in the stomach felt. He studied her face, hair and curious grey eyes; remembered how she held her ground against the two dwarves; saw her bow and daggers and was almost _certain_ that it was her.

After what seemed to be forever, the Marchwarden finally found his voice.

"You are not, by any chance, Erfaron, are you?

Erynlith held her breath. She swore she had never seen this young elf before.

* * *

*_Night-time Is Here_ \- Gaia Rose

**Next Chapter:** Erynlith meets and bonds with the wardens.

**Author's Notes:** Yeah, I kind of forgot to warn everyone about the HUGE timeskip. I know it must be irking to some readers, but like I said before, I cannot write about everything that happened in the past years. It would take dozens of chapters if I went into that much details. Elves live for so long that we just really need a timeskip. Sorry to all who doesn't appreciate timeskips. Anyway, this takes centuries after Glorfindel arrived in Middle-earth, sometime around TA 1980, t̶h̶e̶ ̶c̶r̶i̶s̶i̶s̶ ̶b̶e̶t̶w̶e̶e̶n̶ ̶A̶m̶r̶o̶t̶h̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶N̶i̶m̶r̶o̶d̶e̶l̶.̶ ̶Y̶e̶s̶,̶ ̶w̶e̶ ̶a̶r̶e̶ ̶g̶o̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶t̶o̶w̶a̶r̶d̶s̶ ̶_t̶h̶a̶t̶_ ̶d̶i̶r̶e̶c̶t̶i̶o̶n̶.̶

I think our mystery Marchwarden is more or less obvious, or is it just me?

***juliacensi95** \- Aww, thank you so much for the long and wonderful review! It's very nice to meet you and welcome to ! I am glad you appreciate and love the characters as they are in this story. You posted so many praises and I cannot thank you enough for all of it! I'll just keep on writing and hope you like each of the upcoming chapters I post. Don't worry! Spoiler alert! Eryn and Thrandy should meet soon. Also, which country are you from? Your English is really good!

Again, thank you so much for the review!

***Zip001** \- Yes, it's like Elrond could see through people and knows exactly how to deal with it. It is what makes him a good leader and father. As for Glorfindel, there was the need to impress Elrond (being new in the valley and all) so I really imagined him overdoing it and getting himself too exhausted in the process. And Firianath. Tsk, tsk, you bad girl. Glorfy to the rescue! Thank you for the review!

***Phoebus Artemis** \- Thank you! Hope you enjoy reading more!

***Eirithdiel** \- LOL. I am so sorry, but I can't help writing chapters about Glorfindel! He's just one of my most favourite Elves! How can you not like Elves? They're fabulous all the time, just ask Thrandy! XD

***Rosiethehobbit17** \- Good to have you back! LOL. With or without reviews, it brings me joy to update this story. Anywho, we have normal Glorfy, sleepy Glorfy... what about drunk Glorfy next?

***Lord Illyren** \- Not to worry, my Lord! Eryn and Thrandy shall cross paths sooner or later. Yes, both of them are just too proud to admit it, especially Thrandy. He doesn't want something unless it is served in a silver platter. Think positively! Eryn is in Lorinand now, and we all know Thrandy often visits Lorinand so... *evil laughter*

***May** \- High five for Team Glorfy!


	48. Meeting the Marchwardens

**Chapter 48**

_**Meeting the Marchwardens**_

* * *

Erynlith was nestled closely among the wardens, feeling more like a prisoner than a guest. One of them had taken her bow and quivers, much to her disappointment, though her two daggers remained strapped behind her waist. She pulled her hood lower to hide her face as they entered the golden forest, its Nandorin folk shooting her curious glances. Her white stallion was being led behind the company, and when they finally reached the heart of the forest, one of the wardens took it away to the stables.

When the Marchwarden turned back to her, she realized that he, despite being young, was almost a head taller than her.

"Welcome to Lórinand, Erfaron." His commanding voice earlier turned into an amiable one now. He bowed to her, a hand resting on his chest. When he straightened to look at her, there was a small smile on his lips.

She still failed to understand what was happening. Why did this warden look and sound like he knew her, but she did not know him? During the walk towards the forest, she remained thinking about the warden, but nothing dawned to her. Now, looking up to him and meeting his cold eyes, she could only smile and bow in return.

Then, a boisterous laughter echoed in the courtyard of Lórinand. A large figure was meandering towards their small group. Erynlith recognized him as Amroth's Chief Marchwarden, Orgilion. He was a hulk of an elf, with broad shoulders and wide chest, muscled arms and legs. His long brown hair was pulled up into a high ponytail, emphasizing his square jaw. A scar ran from his right eyebrow down to his ear, another three scars on his left forearm where a warg had scratched him ages ago. When he finally reached the group, he made the young warden with silver-gold hair look like a child, and made Erynlith feel so _tiny_.

"Erfaron!" He bellowed, opening his thick arms for her, and embraced her so gently she felt fragile. His hand patted her back, with him bending down a little to rest his chin on the crown of her head. Then, as he let her go, he chuckled. "Long time no see, my little lady."

She laughed heartily. "I missed you too, Orgilion, tra-la."

"You haven't changed," the Chief Marchwarden said, grinning. "You still stand so small and vulnerable. What have you been doing in Rivendell? Do not tell me Lord Erestor keeps you locked in and spoils you!"

"Erestor keeps me inside, but not spoils me." She feigned a resigned sigh.

Another loud, boisterous laugh.

"Come, come now," he eagerly told her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "The King waits for you in his chambers." He began to lead her towards the white fortress, until he looked over his shoulder. "Thank you for escorting her. You may return to your post now," he said to the young warden and continued to walk away.

Erynlith glanced at the warden and saw him frown a little, and then went to the other direction. She poked her tall companion's arm and asked, "Who was that?"

"Hm?" Orgilion blinked his brown eyes and went, "Haldir, one of my greatest students. He has been around for the past two hundred years, but you do not know him yet; you haven't visited us for a thousand years after all."

"I see. He seemed to know me though."

"And why not?" He grinned down at her, carefully guiding her up to the flet. "Everybody knows the story of Erfaron, who hunted a band of orcs and a pack of wargs in the middle of the night—and alone! All alone in the night, and out hunting! Of course the old folks are proud of you by doing so. Ever since, your act became like a bedtime story to the little ones. Haldir and his brothers grew up hearing about your story." He chuckled fondly. "You are the hero he had been hearing about all these years."

She felt warmed by the thought, but she also said, "I did not hunt the wargs all alone. Raithon was with me."

"What about that _Aduial en Meleth_ with the orcs then?"

She made a face. "Well, I _was_ alone but it still doesn't sound good to be a bedtime story for elflings."

Orgilion laughed and shook her shoulders. "Too late to make a difference, Erfaron. If I broadcast now that you are here, every warden who heard about you would be baffled."

"I feel special," Erynlith commented sarcastically. "Where's Amroth?"

"In his chambers. He does not feel so good, and you must be calm when you find out what happened." He stopped with her at the highest part of the flet, where two wardens were standing guard at the entrance. The hulking Chief Marchwarden nodded to them and softly patted her on the head. "See you downstairs, Erfaron."

Upon hearing the name, the two wardens blinked at her. She smiled at them before entering her cousin's chambers.

The King of Lórinand was on his bed, his right foot splintered and a thick bandage plastered on his left cheek. He smiled and casually waved a hand at her. When he tried to sit up, pain shot up into his head and his broken leg protested at the slightest movement. Grunting and moaning, Amroth returned to lay on his bed, watching as his younger cousin approach him with a confused look on her face.

"I look terrible, huh?" Amroth wheezed out a little chuckle.

Erynlith sat beside his bed. "You don't say. What happened to you?"

"I had trouble with those dwarves from Moria. It seemed everything belongs to them, even lakes and rivers and whatnot." He groaned and pointed on his cheek. "I missed you so much. Kiss me, cousin?"

She laughed and kissed his cheek. "I am sorry this happened to you. What were you doing alone and without the wardens?"

"I wanted to see Lórinand before..." His voice faltered uneasily.

"Before what? Amroth?"

"Ah, nothing." He made an effort to reach out and touch her cheek. "I wanted you to come because I haven't seen you for _centuries_. Seriously, what keeps you in Rivendell? I hope Erestor does not keep you locked in, or have you pledged yourself to someone? Really, Eryn, tell me everything I missed. I missed hearing your voice."

"Well, for one thing, I keep watching over Elrond's children, especially the brothers." She sighed at that. "Elladan and Elrohir are like two whirlwinds in the valley—you cannot keep them in one place. Apart from them, I also help Glorfindel with all the scouting and sometimes training—"

"Glorfindel, the reborn elf?"

"Yes."

"Why did you not bring him here? I would have wanted to meet the love of your life," he teased.

But she did not realize he was teasing her. "He is the Captain of Rivendell; he has duties to keep order in the valley every day. Now, do tell me: since when did Lórinand have flets around the trees?"

Amroth shrugged. "Since a few decades, if I remember correctly. Nimrodel has been so frightened when another band of orcs passed through the forest to get to Moria. We lost a few of the wardens afterwards. Nimrodel felt so insecure on the ground that she wanted me to do something that would keep her and the Nandor folk safe. So, I did. With a help from Thranduil, we made the flets happen."

_Thranduil, of course_. She remembered that King Oropher often hounded his son to finish the sketch for the northern fortress they were planning some two thousand years ago. She remembered how the Elvenking sounded so excited, remembered Greenwood and Raithon and Santien, and remembered the blond elf prince who was now the King. What else could have changed in Greenwood?

"Do you always do what Nimrodel says?" Erynlith countered, smirking at her cousin.

"Not entirely." He pouted. "You stop teasing me."

"Okay, okay, tra-lay. I rhymed!" She clapped her hands. "Speaking of, where is Nimrodel?"

"Either in her chambers or in the infirmary. She feels safe in both of those places."

"Does she always feel so threatened?"

"All the _damn_ time," Amroth confided to her, and sighed. He did not have someone to confide his secrets, and he dared not to tell Orgilion or someone from the barracks. He waited until his cousin could get there. "I do not know what else to do. She always wants this and that, and I give it to her. But whenever I ask something from her, she refuses and does not talk to me until I stop persuading her. It's..."

"Frustrating?"

"Frustrating, yes; but I am not frustrated at Nimrodel." He groaned and closed his tired eyes. "I need time to think. Would you come back here for dinner? We have much to talk about."

Erynlith tucked the blanket under his chin. She kissed his cheek again. "Of course, but what about Nimrodel?"

"Let her be for a while. If she keeps on feeling unsafe, I have nothing else to offer her."

* * *

The marchwardens of Lórinand had their barracks stationed near the two intersecting rivers, which were a few meters away from King Amroth's white fortress. The barracks spanned from the edge of the two rivers and around a large golden tree; a silver staircase wound around and up towards the top of the tree, where a wooden platform was also located. On the platform, dozens of the wardens walked to and fro; in one corner was the rack of bows and quivers; and on the other side was a bridge made of grey rope that connected the barracks to the other trees in the realm.

More wardens were standing guard at the foot of the tree. Others were roaming around the forest, positioned to scout the northern and southern borders, especially the northern where the dwarves of Moria had initially attacked Amroth without knowing he was the Elvenking.

Haldir ambled towards the tree, without much care of the others passing beside him. He kept his blue-grey eyes focused on the grassy floor, watched his muddy boots move, while he thought of the unexpected encounter at Mirrormere that morning.

_I was talking to Erfaron_, he berated himself, _and_ _I raised my voice at her_.

Truth be told, he did not expect his first meeting with her would turn out to be so disastrous. He was only doing his daily routine of patrolling the northern borders when his eyes caught glimpse of a hooded elf kneeling on the ground. When he and his company saw that one of the dwarves was running to attack the elf, Haldir acted on instinct and swiftly drew his bow and arrow.

_I glared at her, and I thought she was from Greenwood._

His father had told Haldir and his younger brothers the story of Erfaron. He remembered, as a little elfling, that he had been so amazed to hear such an act. Since then, he kept the story close to his heart and aspired to become as good as the Erfaron he heard of. For years he trained in archery and hunting, made himself a good student to the Chief Marchwarden, and even trained his younger brothers to be good scouts.

_But I raised my voice and blew my chance to make a good impression._

Stopping from his walk, Haldir inhaled deeply and tried to gather his wits. He stood now in the middle of the forest, away from the courtyard and barracks, and definitely away from the eyes of the other elves. Then, amidst of the silence, he heard someone humming and singing not so far from him.

"_Trees, trees_

_Home of the bees,_

_Home of the seeds,_

_And all trees make flowers,_

_And all trees make fruits,_

_From chestnuts,_

_To apples,_

_To plums,_

_Trees give us good food,_

_O-tra-la-la-la-lo!"_

Haldir found Erfaron sitting at the edge of the river and singing to herself. She had her cloak thrown back, her bow and quiver returned to her. Her hand was holding an apple, while beside her, a brown basket filled with more fruits was there. The young warden did not know what to do. Should he leave her be, or introduce himself more properly? While he was contemplating what do to, Erfaron already noticed him.

"Ah, Haldir, tra-la." She sang his name so cheerfully, and patted a seat next to her. "Come join me here. I am afraid the servant gave me too much food to eat."

He hesitated.

She frowned. "Is your name not Haldir?"

"It—It is..."

"Then come and sit here." She insisted, and Haldir could not help but comply. He sat cross-legged and somewhat away from her. Erynlith dug into her basket and tossed him an apple. "Would you tell me something, Haldir?"

"Yes, anything." He took a small bite from his apple, while observing the umber-haired minstrel beside him.

She turned to him, looking curious. "What happened to the King?"

Haldir paused for a while, unable to think of something. His eyes focused on the rushing water, his ears perked up at every little noise, and then bit on his apple again. "King Amroth was wandering alone in the forest. He must have gone astray and proceeded towards Mirrormere. He was told by the dwarf-guards not to step onto their property, and the King must have said otherwise. Two of the guards attacked him and the King was without a weapon, so..."

He was ashamed to admit that he failed to protect the Elvenking.

"Two dwarves? The same as this morning?"

"Yes, them."

"When did this happen?"

"More or less two weeks ago."

"I see. What did the King in Moria have to say about it?"

"Nothing." He shrugged, now feeling more comfortable in her presence. "One of his messengers just warned us not to cross the borders anymore."

"Has anyone else been attacked?"

"No, only the King."

She nodded and finished the rest of her apple. She took her basket and settled it on the warden's lap. "You can give this to the others in the barracks. I'll be right back, tra-lay."

Haldir immediately turned around and said, "Wait, Erfaron! You are not going back to challenge the dwarves, are you?"

Erynlith pressed an index finger on her lips. "Don't worry. It will be our little secret."

* * *

*Orgilion - Star-day

**Next Chapter:** Amroth reveals a secret. Nimrodel takes matters into her hands. Thranduil senses something.

**Author's Notes:** Before anything else, I would want to greet myself a happy birthday! Yaaayy! Happy birthday to me~! I am now 19 years old, and I think I need to be more mature—and let's face it—because sooner or later I will become an adult. And the thought of it scares me. LOL. But anyway! Let's celebrate with a new chapter!

It is now revealed who the mystery Marchwarden really is! It was fun to read your guesses, though I really intend to introduce our beloved Haldir in this fic. He's one of the interesting characters whom Tolkien did not elaborate in his books, so I'll take my chances. Besides, Peter Jackson killed such a wonderful elf during the Battle of Helm's Deep! Don't you worry, Haldir, I'll give you screentime in this fic! *hugs tightly*

Also, it might just be my imagination, but someone asked me to write an Elladan/OC story before. Can't remember who, and I tried searching for it and the review must have been deleted. (Is it possible to delete reviews?) I've thought about it and I'm quite conflicted right now. Should I write an Elladan/OC or Haldir/OC next?

***juliacensi95** \- Thank you, Guilia! You flatter me so much with your reviews! I had Eryn move from Rivendell to the woods as soon as possible because I think we need to get back into the main story. Establishing Glorfindel's character arc is done, so we return to Lorinand to continue with the story. OMG. Imagine if it was Thrandy instead, or Legolas! But you're right. If it had been Legolas, it means Thrandy and Celairis would have *coughs* and I don't want to get trampled on by the anti-Celairis group. LOL. Sooner or later, Thrandy and Eryn might cross paths again.

You're Italian! Wonderful! I have an Italian friend, too! It's so nice to meet people from all over the world! :)

Thank you again for the review!

***crazykenz** \- Here it is! I hope you like who the warden turned out to be! Thank you for reviewing!

***ScarlettRunsRed** \- Oh no, I'm so sorry if it wasn't Legolas! Please don't hurt me! XD

***Zip001** \- Eryn doesn't think of herself that much, and though she always listens to Erestor, this is one of those times that she indulges herself. And her standoff with the dwarves—LOL. I think it would be natural for her to be confused, because she's always the naive one and doesn't understand things unless explained or proven otherwise, like with King Amdir's warnings. And she remains thoughtful to her brother and Glorfindel. :D

Good work! You guessed who it was, and I am quite impressed that you discerned his character at once! *claps*

* - Phew! I thought you'd let me drown because I am shipping Eryn and Glorfy. But don't worry! We're getting closer to the truth and we'll see what Thrandy might do about the Eryn/Glorfy ship. *winks*

***Lord Illyren** \- If you think you know where this is going, I might turn it back around. LOL. Just kidding! I'll just keep on writing and see if your guess parallels with mine. Thank you!

***Yukira Akiratomo** \- Introducing Glorfindel did feel like a thousand years now! It takes forever for me to update chapters sometimes. Cross paths, hm? It would either be Thrandy who comes to Lorinand, or Eryn comes to Greenwood. Which one, which one? If Glorfindel had been here, it would have been spicier! XD Thank you for the review!


	49. Brewing Conflicts

**Chapter 49**

_**Brewing Conflicts**_

* * *

In the end, Erynlith dared not to return to Mirrormere and pick a fight with the dwarf-guards. It was bad enough that Moria and Lórinand were hostile to each other. To make matter worse, King Amroth was not faring very well. Erynlith supposed that whatever reconciliation that needed to be done would be done later, _much_ later when her reckless of a cousin could finally walk on his two legs and without a bruised cheek.

After meeting Haldir at the river, she returned to the heart of the forest. One of the maidens showed her new bedchamber, stationed at the top of a golden tree and not too far from the King's room. It was more spacious than the one she had in Rivendell, and had a large round bed, bedside table, a wardrobe filled with only few of her dresses, and a round window that overlooked River Anduin. Hanging at the ceiling was a white chandelier that seemed to glow golden, especially now that the Sun was setting. It made Lórinand look more golden, peaceful and utterly breathtaking.

An hour later, someone knocked.

"Erfaron?" A soft voice inquired from the doorway.

Erynlith turned to see a rather young maiden with dark golden hair and brown eyes.

"The Elvenking invites you for dinner."

"Oh, of course." She had almost forgotten about returning to his chamber. "I will come right away."

Sparing one last glance to her new room, Erynlith followed the attendant and climbed down the flet. She thought the platforms on top of the trees were efficient and designed well, and then also remembered that Thranduil gave a hand in planning them. It was one of his leisure activities: to sketch and plan and perhaps even doze off inside the library or infirmary, much to Santien's annoyance. The memory made her laugh softly; she missed Raithon and Santien, and no words could describe how much she missed Prince and Greenwood. _King_, she told herself sternly, _he is now King_.

She was surprised not to see Nimrodel inside Amroth's chamber. When she entered, her grey eyes instinctively searched for the pale, golden-haired Nandorin elf. Instead, she found her cousin sitting up on his bed, with a round table filled with food and drinks beside him.

"Nimrodel has already eaten dinner," Amroth told her, "in case you are wondering." He beckoned her to sit on the other side of the table.

"It really makes me wonder. Did the two of you get into an argument?" She sat in front of him and eyed the scrumptious cakes and berries that were served tonight.

He sipped his wine and said, "Surprised, are you?"

"No." She shook her head, reaching out to munch on a blueberry muffin. "Just plain curious, tra-la."

"Well, it is _her_ fault, after all." Amroth frowned. "She keeps talking to me about this, this—"

She tried to help. "Muffin?"

"Eryn, be serious!"

"I am serious!" She gobbled the rest of her food and reached out for a delicious-looking strawberry-filled tart. Her cousin immediately slapped her hand away. She pouted. "What? I told you I am listening, tra-lo."

"Yes, but be serious." He pinched the bridge of his nose as he let her take a bite on the tart. "May I continue now?"

"By all means, please do."

"All right." Amroth drew a long breath, gathering his courage to tell her. He knew it would be hard for her when she found out, but it would be harder for him. But for the love he had for Nimrodel—"Eryn, I am planning to propose marriage to her. And," he paused, observing how neutral her reaction was, "before we marry, Nimrodel has made me promise to leave Middle-earth with her."

"Wh—" She choked on her strawberry and coughed violently.

"Wait, Eryn!" He jerked up from the bed, but found that he was unable to rush because of his broken right leg. He growled and shouted, "HALDIR!"

* * *

Some sort of commotion was happening within the King's chambers, Nimrodel just knew it by observing from the shadows. She heard someone screaming in their native Silvan dialect, and then, the wardens hurriedly climbed the stairs and burst into the room. Someone was shouting for water, and then, for _more_ water, as one of Haldir's younger brothers ran back up with a large pitcher of water in hand. Nimrodel continued to observe in the darkness until the commotion was settled, the worried-looking wardens were sighing in relief, and the King's chambers were once again quiet.

As they were passing through, Nimrodel grabbed hold of a sleeve. She looked up to see a pair of cold blue-grey eyes. "What happened?"

"Erfaron had an accident," Haldir informed. His voice was back to its aloof and commanding tone. "Choked on a berry whilst talking to the King. She is fine now."

She could not believe someone could actually choke on a berry, but since it was Erfaron they were talking about, Nimrodel supposed _anything_ could happen. She thanked Haldir and immediately focused her eyes on the ground; out of all the newly-recruited wardens and scouts, it was Haldir who frightened her the most. He carried an air of absolute confidence around him; more so, he was stricter than the Chief Marchwarden Orgilion himself. His younger brothers were not as intimidating as he was, and Nimrodel was glad of it.

Returning back to the river, she could not help but think about her request over and over again. Yes, she had been so terribly afraid these past few decades—so afraid that she told Amroth to build platforms high above on the trees to avoid attacks from the ground. Amroth agreed; he had always been so agreeable since the beginning of their relationship. Whenever she requested something, Amroth made sure it was fulfilled. If she wanted to spend time with Celairis, Amroth would go to Greenwood and persuade the arrogant King of the Woodland Realm. Nimrodel supposed she was fortunate to be loved by a King—and to be precise, the King of Lórinand.

She hummed a little and dipped her feet into the cold waters. The hem of her green gown was soaked, but she did not care. She braided her long golden hair and looked at her reflection and saw the same maiden every night. However, the maiden did not look as beautiful and as youthful as before; she noticed how paler she had become, how lines had formed near her eyes and mouth, and how unhappy the elf-maiden was. From the mistrustful Nimrodel two thousand years ago, she turned to be the overly-fearful Nimrodel. She did not like it, and Amroth thought worse.

When she bribed him of leaving Middle-earth with marriage, the King was immediately reluctant. It dealt a sharp blow in her heart. All these years she thought Amroth was prepared to do anything for her, even if it meant leaving the forest. An argument sparked then; Amroth downright refused to leave his kingdom, and Nimrodel had accused him that he was being unreasonable.

"_And you are being selfish!"_ Amroth had screamed at her face, eyes darkened and him panting heavily, before ordering her to leave his chambers.

It had been two weeks ago since that happened. A few days later, Orgilion, Haldir and the other wardens returned with an injured King. But Nimrodel was still not allowed to see him.

_Let him see_. She abruptly stood up from the edge of the river, and dusted her green gown.

Walking barefoot and almost concealed under the shades of the trees, she easily slipped through the eyes of the other Nandorin elves and left the borders of the forest. She looked over her shoulder and expected that the intimidating warden would seize her, but she found no one. There were only the trees and the soft breeze of the cold evening air. She shivered for a while, and then mustered her courage to leave Lórinand.

* * *

At midnight, the King of Greenwood finally stopped tossing and rolling on his bed. He got up, scowling at the mess of pillows and blankets, and donned an outer robe and headed outside his chambers. It was cold tonight, he noticed, but he also wondered why he could not sleep. He had no troubles running the kingdom lately; Celairis looked into that, as always. No troubles brewed on either borders of the forest, as Raithon often reported early in the morning.

For the past two thousand years, Greenwood was peaceful. Only now did the King feel uneasy enough _not_ to be able to get a good night's rest.

Thranduil paced back and forth in the throne room, rather relieved that no guards were stationed there for the night. He sipped eagerly on his wine, hoping it would calm him. It did not—not in the slightest bit. He growled yet again and settled himself on the throne, looking ahead and thinking hard.

_What am I so worried about? Is it wargs again, in the forest? Lórinand?_

His fellow Elvenking had sent a letter about the incident in Mirrormere two weeks ago. Amroth wanted to make sure that if a fight suddenly ensued, Greenwood would come to their aid. Perhaps it was the reason he remained wide awake tonight. He was worried about Amroth and his broken leg and bruised cheek. Anger flared inside him whenever Thranduil remembered those horrible, stunted creatures on two legs, with their thick beards and dark eyes and seemed to look sweaty all the time.

_If a fight commences, I will be there to whittle down some dwarves_, Thranduil thought and sipped his wine again.

Then, when his anger finally subsided, he returned to his musings.

_Why do I feel like I need to go to Lórinand?_

* * *

**Next Chapter:** Follow the misadventures of Eryn and Haldir as they search for Nimrodel.

**Author's Notes:** Okaaaay~! This is a rather short chapter. I intend it to be some sort of prologue before we get into the main action. I must warn you that from this point on, the story would be fast and action-filled. I am very excited to write about Thranduil again!

***juliacensi95** \- Wow! Yours must have been one of the _longest_ reviews I have ever read! First and foremost, thank you for the birthday greeting, tra-lay! I am very happy that you like being mentioned in the author's notes. XD I thoroughly enjoy speaking to everyone. And you're quite right! The chapters with Glorfindel are more like chapters to establish his character first, and how Eryn would interact with him. Now it returns to the main point of the story and it would be fast from here on.

Haldir! *squeals* I think all of Middle-earth Elves are dreamy, which is why they need more screentime! About the ship, no—I am not planning to add Haldir. I thought it would only be natural for him to appear, because he lived in Lorinand, too. I am trying another character who is actually young but acts maturely, unlike Erynlith who is the complete opposite. :)

Well-said about Erestor! English might not be your native language, but you said it _waaaay_ better than I ever could. It is his selfishness which tore Thrandy and Eryn, and which always kept Glorfindel at bay. It might be because he thinks Eryn still could not handle herself, that she remains to be the young elf—who is all songs, flowers, etc. He _thinks_ he knows her best, but throughout the years he has become blind and unable to acknowledge how she matured to be a responsible elf, as in Glorfindel's case. Yup, he thinks and wants her to be his little girl. LOL.

Again, thank you for such a wonderful review! I must admit that everytime I read the end, with the "eheheh *tom hiddleston laugh*", I always end up laughing out loud. I love Tom Hiddleston! Then again... who doesn't?! Lovelots, Guilia! :)

***StarofSea** \- Thank you! I kind of missed hearing (or is it reading?) from you! With or without reviews, I am happy to know that there are many who are waiting for new updates. Yup, Eryn tries to figure out who Haldir actually was, but it was Haldir's father that she knew. It was probably the uncanny physical resemblance. And yeaaah, I don't like Nimrodel that much, too. She's like the female version of Erestor, being selfish and all. Can't decide who is more intolerable. ( ._.)

Now I feel sad thinking about Amroth... *cries*

Let the ship of Thrandy/Eryn sail away! XD

***llcyyxx** \- Woah, from 42 up to here? Thanks! Don't worry, Haldir won't join the love polygon. He'll remain the single eye candy for all of us. *evil laugh*

***melodicechoes** \- Calm down, my friend! It is either Eryn goes to Greenwood, or Thranduil goes to Lorinand. Hmmm...

***Rosiethehobbit17** \- I think many people do like Haldir! But noooo—he got killed in the movies! There, there my poor marchwarden. Let us love you! before I get carried away cooing at him, I do agree that Nimrodel is being unreasonable. Amroth should just ditch her and remain single forever! MUA HA HA HA! Thank you for the review, and thank you very much for the birthday greeting~!

***crazykenz** \- If it had been Legolas, Erynlith would surely go "Whaaat?" LOL. Hope you enjoy having Haldir around. Thanks for the review!

***Lord Illyren** \- She's a troublesome elf, but she knows her limitations. XD Thank you for the birthday greeting!

***Overlord Rousdower** \- ROUUSSSYY! OMG where have you been? You should have taken me to ride and fence! I would really love that! Oh? Haldir/OC, you say? Let me see what I can do about it... *grins evilly*


	50. The Dark-elf and the Dawn-maiden

**Chapter 50**

_**The Dark-elf and the Dawn-maiden**_

* * *

Thranduil woke up upon hearing strange screeching noises. It echoed in his mind, so powerful and mysterious that it made his head to swirl and his vision to blur. He closed his eyes for a few minutes, waiting until the screech faltered into the dark part of his mind. When he opened his eyes again, he looked around his room. It was barely morning, yet he was already panting like he ran through the woods. He clutched his head and blinked again, image of a dark and hooded figure forming in his mind. In his years of living, he could not remember anything that resembled the dark figure. The long, trailing shriek returned momentarily, as he imagined the figure closing in on him with one armoured fist reaching out for him.

Unable to bear it alone, Thranduil screamed.

* * *

Erynlith woke up to the shouting of the wardens. She immediately sat up on her bed, grey eyes wildly looking for signs of trouble. Someone was shouting in Silvan, and another replied, and another. Heavy and quick footfalls sounded in the courtyard. Yawning, Erynlith got out of bed and leaned on the silver railing, watching as Orgilion and his scouts panicking down below. She could barely understand what was being said, but she heard someone shout "Nimrodel".

At once, her attention perked and her sleepiness was suddenly gone. Grabbing her bow and quiver, she fixed herself and went downstairs.

"What is happening?"

No one seemed to notice her. Orgilion was running towards the barracks, while barking out orders. Most of the Nandorin folk were whispering and returning to their homes, up in the flets where it was safe.

She saw the familiar young warden and tugged at his hand. "What happened to Nimrodel?"

Haldir was panting, a thin sheet of sweat covering his forehead. "Lady Nimrodel has run away last night. We are assembling teams to search for her, as per the King's orders."

"You—" She looked dismayed. "How could you lose track of her?"

"I... I did not... I mean..." He decided to swallow his pride. "I am sorry, Erfaron."

She was surprised to hear him apologize. "No," she told him gently. "I am not blaming you. No one is to blame. Come, I will help to look for her." She began to jog towards the direction of the barracks.

"But the King—"

"The King lies on his bed, worried about his betrothed." Erynlith placed her hands flat on her hips. "Are you coming with me or must I do this alone?"

Haldir smiled. "Not alone, Erfaron. You have my word."

"Goodie." She beamed at him and reached out to ruffle his hair. "Let's go."

"Right." He sighed and fixed his dishevelled hair. It had taken him ten minutes that morning to get the braids right.

Once at the barracks, everyone was running to and fro. Orgilion was still shouting orders, and the scouts he called out immediately went to positions or dashed off to fetch something. Most of the scouts were already scattering around the area and clutching their bows and horns (to signal if anything happened). Among the running scouts were two elves with silver-gold hair and blue-grey eyes; one had his hair pulled in a ponytail, while the second braided his hair into a simpler fashion. Both wore similar tunics and breeches, carried the same bow and quiver, only that the fletching of their arrows were green and red.

When he saw them running off, Haldir called out to his brothers.

"Orophin! Rúmil!"

Both young elves looked up and ran back to him. Haldir cleared his throat and gestured to his female companion. "I have the honour to introduce you to Erfaron. Erfaron, these are my younger brothers, Orophin and Rúmil."

Erynlith smiled pleasantly at them, and bowed a little. "_Mae govannen_."

"_M-Mae govannen_... Erfaron." Orophin was fifty years younger than Haldir, though he stood as tall as his older brother now. His hair was in a long ponytail. He looked kind and amiable, unlike the first impression Haldir had on others.

Rúmil offered his hand and said, "Welcome back to Lórinand, Erfaron." He was panting from running throughout the whole morning, though he smiled a very sweet smile. Up close, his eyes looked more blue-green instead of grey, and his hair seemed more silver than pale golden.

"It is very wonderful to meet you both, tra-la," Erynlith singsonged. Standing beside three younger elves reminded her of Elladan and Elrohir, though she hoped that Haldir remained serious and calm, and Orophin and Rúmil not to be as mischievous and playful as the two sons of Elrond.

"Will you be looking for Lady Nimrodel, too?" Rúmil asked, looking a little excited.

She nodded. "Yes, it is more efficient if we worked together, hm?"

"What if wargs appear? Or even those dwarves from Moria?" Orophin made a little dismayed face. Young as he was, he and Rúmil had never seen a warg so close; Haldir had seen a juvenile once, and barely escaped without a bruise on his arm. After he killed it, he trained himself to become better and better.

"Oh, we can take care of wargs, tra-la." She waved Orgilion over and the Chief Marchwarden jogged towards her. She said to him, "Are we leaving? Are the groups ready to depart?"

"You're coming?" Orgilion clutched his belly and laughed out. "But of course you are! I am planning to dispatch groups on each corner of the realm," he explained, pointing his index finger towards north, south, east and west. He held up four fingers in her face. "We will have four teams to scour the lands, with twenty elves each. I am sending scouts to remain in the barracks and keep on watching the surroundings while we search for Lady Nimrodel."

Erynlith turned to the young scouts, and smiled. "I am counting on Rúmil and Orophin to keep watch."

Rúmil puffed out his chest. "You can count on me, Erfaron!" he chirped.

"Me, too." Orophin saluted to her and began to pull his brother. "We are going to our posts now. Be careful, Erfaron!"

"Hey, how could you forget about me!?" Haldir called out.

"Oh! Take care as well, brother!" Orophin and Rúmil snickered and dashed off.

Despite pretending to glare, Haldir found himself chuckling. His brothers were younger than him by a couple of decades, though it was already him who raised them. Their father was one of King Amroth's trusted marchwardens and fought under King Amdír's banner during the War of the Last Alliance. After the war, he walked on a limp and continued serving Amroth, until he was caught up in a skirmish in the Gladden Fields while travelling back home from an errand, and was ambushed by orcs. Three days later, his body was washed up on the shores of Anduin, where King Amroth and Orgilion had pulled him and brought him back to the infirmary. His father was cold and dead long before he reached the infirmary; and his wife, a seamstress who made dresses for Lady Nimrodel and sometimes Erfaron, had cried her eyes out day in and day out, quite forgetting that she had three young sons to take care of.

A hundred years was still a child by Elven standards, especially when you walk among wardens and counsellors who had walked this world for thousands of years. Haldir, then barely a hundred years, had taken care of the household while his mother wept, fed Orophin three times a day (five if he was _really_ hungry), and made little Rúmil stop from eating dirt. He cooked and washed clothes in the morning and afternoon, trained himself in archery when the little ones were asleep, served dinner, told bedtime stories about Erfaron and the orcs and wargs, and trained archery again at midnight. Lather, rinse, repeat.

"Shall we get going?"

Erynlith's voice snapped him back from his trance.

Haldir looked down at her and saw that she was already carrying her bow and had her quiver strapped across her back. She was in the middle of strapping her two white daggers behind her waist when Orgilion returned with a stallion in tow.

"The King wishes you well, Erfaron," the Chief Marchwarden said, handling the reins of the horse. "Just be careful, he said. He believes you will find her."

"How thoughtful of him." She lifted herself and settled on the saddle. She turned to Haldir. "Well, are you riding with me or not?"

His blue-grey eyes glanced at Orgilion, who was now crossing the field to return to the others. Then, he leaned in and lowered his voice. "Am I allowed to?"

She blinked at him. "Of course you are! Who could say otherwise?"

"N-No one." He sighed and climbed on the horse. He made sure his hands were not touching her, and his chest was not pressing against her smaller frame. Instead, his hands were flat on the stallion's rear, to balance his weight, while his strong legs were firm on the sides.

"Time to go, tra-la-la." She began to sing as she whirled her stallion around and went to exit the forest.

* * *

It was still midafternoon, yet the skies were dark and it seemed rain would come soon. In Greenwood, it was darker.

Nimrodel walked under the shade of the thick branches and her feet were caked with both hard earth and bits of grass and roots. Whenever she looked up, she could barely see sunlight passing through the leaves, and whenever she looked ahead of her, tangles of overgrown roots, strange bushes with strange red berries lined on her right side, while frightening oak trees with sharp branches stood in a column on her left. The road was barely noticeable, winding ahead like an unknown maze.

She heard something rustle in the bush. Her head snapped immediately, and saw that it was only a small critter living in the woods. Swallowing the lump in her throat, Nimrodel moved forward and continued traversing this dark forest. Greenwood had been so beautiful, she remembered, though she had never been in the Elvenking's palace since he ascended the throne after the War. It had always been Thranduil who came to Lórinand.

_Must I regret this?_ She thought over and over, following the faded road. She kept her eyes focused beside her, fearing that something might leap at her and seize her. The cold wind breezed past her, chilling her to the bone; and for the forest time since leaving the golden wood, she regretted that she did not bring any cloak to warm her. When the wind howled again, she shivered and continued on. _Wind and dark forest, nothing to worry about_, she assured herself.

She cried out in pain when she stumbled upon a boulder, and she fell on the ground face first. Pain stung her right foot. Blood followed next. Nimrodel turned away at the sight of her wound and blood; now she was starting to regret her decision. If Amroth had only been agreeable and agreed to leave Middle-earth with her, she wouldn't be in this situation in the first place. She forced herself to stand, walking limply, and continued on.

The wind howled again. Only now, she did not feel the wind.

She looked behind her, feeling eyes watching her movement. Something was snapping quietly, most likely twigs. Nimrodel swore she was not the one doing that. She backed away slowly, her wide blue eyes searching for anything. Something was growling, crawling, watching her. It made chills ran up her spine; and when a pair of bloodshot eyes glared at her from the darkness up ahead, Nimrodel sprinted off.

Then, large, tawny figure was running alongside her.

* * *

"Erfaron, have you been to Greenwood?"

She paused and glanced at him. She did not want to talk about it right now. "Why do you ask, tra-la?"

He shrugged. "No particular reason."

"Let me tell you a story instead." Erynlith hummed a little tune; she really wished her harp was there with her, but she had left it with Glorfindel back home. She missed him, and wondered if he did sleep at night like she told him.

"Now, this is a story of a little lonely elf who lived in a very dark place. He lived alone, ate alone, sang alone. He only had one friend, but she was mean and strict to him. So, he tried looking for another friend. One dusk, while still in the darkness and watching the earth, he saw another elf by the river. As he looked, he could not help but feel light-hearted and relieved to see the river-elf."

Haldir made a face. "Please don't tell me this is another of those love stories."

"A little." She grinned and laughed when the warden shuddered.

"Okay, so the dark-elf found the river-elf and thought she was enchanting. What happened next?"

Erynlith guided the stallion across the Gladden Fields, the marshlands located east of the Misty Moutains. It was dark and barren, the area covered with thin fog and reeking smell. Many pools and puddles dappled the place, with beds of reeds and surprisingly, small yellow wildflowers poked from the ashen fields. According to lore, it was here where Isildur, King Elendil's son who fought in the War of the Last Alliance, had lost a golden ring so important that Orcs ambushed Isildur and his company in these marshlands.

She caught glimpse of something moving across the field.

"After the dark-elf found her," she continued, keeping Haldir's attention focused on her, "he tried to get out of the darkness. He slipped past his sleeping friend, who turned out to be the dawn-maiden, and went down to earth to introduce himself to the enchantress. Now, the river-elf looked up from the water and saw him coming, a tall and dark figure from the skies."

Whatever was following them in the darkness was growling, and she urged the horse faster, keeping a smile directed at Haldir.

"How did the dark-elf do it? Come down from the skies, I mean."

"Oh, you know some elves have very strange abilities. Take Lord Elrond for example: he could foresee events from the future, but he cannot control it. He said it only occurs to him every once in a while, and in vague hints." She shook her head and snapped at the reins; Haldir would have rolled off the horse if he hadn't grabbed the edge of her saddle. "Back to the story: when the dark-elf finally beheld the river-maiden, he smiled and introduced himself to her. She seemed wary at first, but offered her hand and smiled as well. Then—Haldir, could you hold on tightly, please?"

He hesitated for a moment, but saw the serious look on her face. He nodded, wrapping one strong arm around her waist while the other held his longbow. For the second time, he almost slipped from the horse when it galloped and sprinted like a projectile. Haldir looked behind him and could see something robust and sleek following them. He instinctively moved to draw his bow and arrow, but his companion stopped him by tugging at his tunic sleeve.

"Not yet," Erynlith told him, her voice sounded alert and patient. She was focused on passing through the Gladden Fields without having to fight; if it came to that, she and Haldir could be caught up in the water, tangled in the reeds, and most frightening, cornered and assaulted. She grabbed his other hand and wrapped it around her waist.

"Before the sun started to rise, the dark-elf bid goodbye to the river-maiden and returned to the skies. He found that the dawn-maiden was still sleeping. A few minutes later, she woke up and greeted her friend."

Haldir looked again and now saw a large warg snapping at their heels. It was almost as large as their stallion, its sharp and yellow fangs covered by white foam, the angry amber eyes staring up at him. It was a huge success for him to snatch his left arm back from Erynlith, who wheeled the horse and urged it sharply to the left as another grey warg appeared in front and tried to cut them off. The horse staggered for a while, its hooves slipping into the soft mud, and let out a laboured neigh. Haldir took an arrow, fired, and missed the warg behind them. He gritted his teeth and shouted a curse.

Erynlith dug her heels on the sides of the stallion, mustering it ever faster. She could see the other end of the Gladden Fields. "Every day since then, the dark-elf continued visiting the river-maiden," she continued with her story, "as long as the dawn-maiden did not find out and woke up with the dark-elf in the skies. However—"

"Erfaron, this is _not_ the time for stories!" Haldir fired another arrow, and despite the unsteady aim, it hit the first warg on the shoulder, but not enough to completely dispatch it.

"_However_," she sternly insisted on her story, "almost a year after the dark-elf and the river-maiden started seeing each other; the dawn-maiden became suspicious. She always tried to catch her friend in the act of leaving the skies, but she always falls asleep after dawn and—"

He ducked his head as the brown warg bolted—mouth wide open and golden eyes bulging—and sighed in relief when the creature stumbled on one of the pools with a muffled bark. The second one was closing in on their right, racing beside the stallion, with its muzzle all wrinkled and fangs showed. Haldir balanced himself on the horse, placed his hands flat on the rear, and lifted his right leg to deliver a strong kick.

The smaller grey warg whined at the impact, its vision blurring for a moment. Gradually, it stopped following to paw at its aching eyes.

"Ah, you are amazing!" Erynlith praised and continued leading the horse outside the marshland. Then, with a soft voice, she continued: "One day, the dawn-maiden awakened and found her friend to be gone. She looked down to the earth and saw him with the river-maiden, and she was angry. The dawn-maiden went to earth herself, clad in so much light that even the dark-elf cannot bear looking directly to her. She cursed the dark-elf for leaving, for he was not allowed to leave the skies. The dark-elf pleaded and asked for her forgiveness, now admitting that he has fallen in love with—"

"I _knew_ it was going to be a love story," Haldir complained, running his fingers through his hair. Sweat trickled from his forehead, and he was incredibly thirsty.

"Yes, you did see that coming, hm?" She smiled.

"I did, but I want to hear the rest."

"All right! He fell in love with the river-maiden and promised not to disobey again, as long as he and his love would be together in the skies. The dawn-maiden perceived that he was telling the truth, but she knew that the river-maiden belonged in the earth. '_I'll do anything'_, the dark-elf told her desperately. '_I want to be with her forever and ever'_. '_Do you really_?' the dawn-maiden replied. And the dark-elf nodded and said, '_Yes, so please'_. Using her powers, the dawn-maiden touched the river-maiden on the heart and turned her into something bright and beautiful. When the light faded, the dark-elf was stunned that his love had disappeared, and asked where she was. '_Up in the heavens where the two of you could be together_', the dawn-maiden said and smiled. '_You can return home now._' Thus, looking high above him, the dark-elf saw something shining in the heavens, so silver and bright, and knew at once that it was his river-maiden turned into something else—the Morning Star."

Finally, the Gladden Fields came into an end. Before them were massive field and the river Anduin on the right. The foggy area seemed to have gone with the marshlands; and the wargs did not continue pursuing them. The Sun was blazing above, warming their skins, and for a moment, Haldir was relieved to get out of trouble, unscathed.

He looked at his companion and gave her a questioning look. "What happened to the dark-elf and the star-maiden, Erfaron?"

"Oh, the three of them returned to the heavens, and stayed there during the morning, afternoon, and evening. The dark-elf did not seek to leave the heavens anymore because his love is with him now, and the dawn-maiden, contented, fell back to sleep." She beamed up at him. "And they lived happily ever after."

* * *

**Next Chapter:** More Eryn and Haldir misadventures. Nimrodel in freaking Greenwood!

**Author's Notes:** How strange is it that I've updated in less than a week? Normally, we should celebrate about it, but I've seen the news about what happened to Paris, Lebanon and Japan. Really, what is happening to our world? I hope all our friends in those countries are safe, especially because I have friends living in Japan so I feel emotional about these incidents. Let's all pray for them.

Now then, what do we have here in this chapter? We've got some Thranduil dilemma, the introduction of Orophin and Rumil (you two cutesies!), and the Eryn and Haldir misadventures! Eryn is supposed to sing the story, but because I am feeling rather lazy to come up with one, I decided to make her talk about it instead. Some of you might find the story a little weird and out of place. Then again, it's Eryn! She's bound to talk about some weird things sooner or later. Truth be told though, I think it may have a hidden meaning or two. *shrugs*

***Overlord Rousdower** \- OMG Thrandy has Eryn senses! Now I imagine him holding a radar that beeps and glows red when Eryn comes near! XD

Yes, oohhh, I've seen your Sauron/OC! Make it happen! Make Sauron/OC happen because I follow Phobs too and her Melkor/Sauron arts are awesomesauce! I understand the feeling of writing another story while you still have other unfinished ones... but 12 unfinished stories?! You are the chosen one, my Lord Rousy! Please do bring me riding and fencing next time~!

***EllethofRivendell** \- Thank you very much for following! And thank you for the birthday greeting! *hugs* Hope you enjoy the story more!

***Rosiethehobbit17** \- The morning I woke up and read your review, I think I spent full two minutes laughing and rolling on the bed! Nimrodel is gone? YES LET HER LEAVE! Her role could be replaced by a houseplant and it wouldn't even make a difference! Call Thrandy because we definitely need to partaaay! XD You made my day! Thank you!

***Xxdarkrose18** \- Yes, something should really happen to Nimrodel because she is such a spoiled brat! Though I did kind of made her that way so... Thank you for the review! Good to see you here~!

***Star of Sea** \- OHH, let Thrandy and Eryn go together so we could have Glorfy, Haldir and Amroth for ourselves! I don't mind either of them just give me an elf, Mr. Tolkien! *gross sobbing in the corner*

You read while in class! *high five* I always do that when the subject gets boring and stuff, but don't get too distracted! Classes are still important! Most importantly, don't get caught by the teacher. *winks, then laughs evilly*

***Lord Illyren** \- Worry not, my Lord! Each chapter brings them closer together! Glorfindel should start becoming nervous because Thrandy is the real deal!

***Zip001** \- Nimrod? More like NIMRUDE! HA! Guys? Anyone? Oh, okay... LOL but moving on: I would have made Eryn come back to Mirrormere and show those dwarves some manners, but I figured it would be out of her character, because she's not an aggressive elf to begin with. She's all songs and flowers and trees which would make it more unlikely. Her last remark to Haldir was meant to be a little tease, because (like you said) Haldir is too serious.

***juliacensi95** \- Guilia~! I missed you! *hugs*

Aww, it's all right if you cannot review right away because you have exams. (Exams are important, children! Keep studying!) I go to a university too and I have so much time in my hands lately that I could update chapters every now and then. May I ask what you're studying in university?

You got it right with Nimrodel! She's a runner from everything: Amroth refuses to grant something=throw tantrums, wardens are not friendly with her=complains); and like you said, very spoiled. She gets what she wants because she has Amroth under her sleeves, and to make it worse, Amroth spoils her even more. Spoils her rotten! Like pouring oil into the fire! Like Erestor, she's selfish and does not think much of others. But that's okay! Nimrodel's gone to Greenwood and we know who are searching for her and we know there's an Elvenking waiting... *fangirls*

No need to apologize for the long review! I love reading them! I hope I know more people like you in real life, someone I could chat with in a bar and talk for hours about books and stuff... I would really like that a lot!

Thank you for stopping by even if you have exams. LOL. Good luck on the exam! See you next chapter~! ( ˘ ³˘)

P.S. I am surprised you still like Nimrodel. Some really dislike her and Celairis, our favourite Chief Counsellor (or is it Erestor's title?)


	51. Erfaron

**Chapter 51**

_**Erfaron**_

* * *

"Are you hungry?"

Before Haldir could answer, Erynlith threw an apple at his direction. She took another from her satchel and leaned against the panting stallion, which dipped its head into the river and eagerly drank water. On the other side of Anduin, the dense Woodland Realm came into view, dark and appeared home to various unknown beasts. Boulders lined up across the river, allowing travellers to cross the Great River, and then the Old Ford stretched out from the shoreline and further to the forest.

It was the very place where Erynlith had escaped the ambush in the High Pass with the injured and unconscious Erestor and Caladhir, and where she collapsed under the trees of Greenwood and was found by a certain Prince. But that was almost two thousand years ago. She had been as young as Haldir then, barely two centuries old; now, she was proud that she was old enough to be treated like an adult.

"Do you think Lady Nimrodel could have gotten into Greenwood?" Haldir sat cross-legged on the field, resting his elbow on his thigh as he munched on the apple. "I mean, could she _really_ go there alone?"

Erynlith looked at the river and shrugged. She flopped beside the warden. "If you are trying to run away from home, where would you go?"

He looked at the skies for a while, thinking. "In Greenwood."

"Why?"

"Because, apart from Lórinand, no other nearby place is safe enough. The Misty Mountains are home to orcs, Moria is home to Dwarves, and Rivendell is too far away to be reached on foot. Fangorn Forest seems near enough, but I have heard rumours about it. She might consider Greenwood to be her best option. Additionally, the Wood-elves also live there."

"Brave and super smart." She leaned in and ruffled his hair. "Befitting the next Chief Marchwarden, tra-la."

Haldir shied away from that. "I do not intend to take his place," he murmured. "I just want to be as good as you are."

"Hm?" Her hand stopped from ruffling his hair and went down to her lap. She was utterly confused now. "What do you mean like me?"

"You're Erfaron," he whispered and looked at the ground. Suddenly, the beige field looked so interesting. "Everyone in Lórinand whispers how brave you were when you hunted those orcs and saved Lady Nimrodel. You, who was alone and injured, hunted after a band of orcs. I just wanted to be like you, that's all."

Erynlith spent the next few moments studying his face, that sincere face. It was only yesterday when she first met him, standing tall and proud, and had stopped that dwarf from pummelling her at Mirrormere. His appearance, voice and cold eyes had frightened her, but now, as he sat cross-legged beside her and refused to meet her eyes, Haldir seemed like a very determined young elf.

He glanced and caught her looking at him. "I'm sorry to rant about it."

"No, no," she softly whispered. "I just... I just really do not understand how Erfaron could be so special to others." She bit her lower lip, unsure how to continue.

At first it all sounded like a big old joke that Raithon came up with after they hunted the wargs in the forest. The name spread like wildfire to the Silvan folk, and then to the Nandorin of Lórinand. Elves began to call her _Erfaron_, sometimes even forgot it was not truly her name. She only thought they were making fun of her, teasing her. She was not aware that Erfaron was someone whom the little elflings heard about at night, not until Haldir.

"It is like hearing a story about an olden warrior who slays a dragon," Haldir explained, a small smile playing on his lips. "A hero who sets out to save a person, who has a quest to fulfil, or a treasure to find. Only in _our_ story, it is not a hulking warrior with swords and rides beasts into battle; Erfaron is someone who _actually_ lives, who has known some of the elves in the forest and talked to them. She is not a figment from a parent's mind just to tell a story. It is all real. And for a child," he hesitated, avoiding her eyes again, "and for a child... who grew up hearing those stories and kept them close to his heart, for a child who aspired to become a warden, and then suddenly, you are here—the _real_ Erfaron."

She smiled then, finally understanding what he meant. "If it means so much to you, then I would not mind being called Erfaron for the rest of my life."

"My only wish is that I could be as great as you are, so that, when I am old, children would also hear about my story."

"I am sure they would." She leaned her head against his shoulder, causing him to become more flustered. "Just keep on protecting your home and all would go well, tra-la. Shall we continue looking for Nimrodel?"

Haldir cleared his throat . "I suppose we should. We have been resting for quite some time now."

Both stood up. Erynlith adjusted the bridle and saddle of the stallion, and then handed her satchel to the young warden. He blinked, looking all confused, and she laughed it off.

"I am sending you to Greenwood alone."

"B-But why?"

"We have only one horse. When you find Nimrodel, of course she doesn't want to walk. When I am with you, I do not want to ride the horse while you walk. Go ahead and proceed to the forest. Be careful though; the forest is dark and the Old Forest Road seems to have faded." She handed the reins and winked. "Good luck, Marchwarden Haldir."

"But if I leave and you're here alone—"

"Which is not so surprising now..."

"Yes. Your safety is my greatest priority. If something happens to you, King Amroth might be disappointed at me."

Erynlith shook her head. "Oh, please. Don't worry about Amroth. I can handle him just fine." She gently grabbed his shoulder and turned him towards Greenwood. She gave a little push. "Off you go, Chief. Come back soon and be careful. Don't talk to strangers, oh-tra-la-lay."

He sighed in defeat. "All right. I will go, but _please_ stay safe. I really don't want to get into double troubles when we get back."

"Of course, of course, tra-lo. See you later, Haldir, tra-lay."

* * *

The Silvan folk were aware of the commotion in the palace. Every elf in the kitchen and outpost whispered behind their hands about an elf-maiden who was found unconscious in the forest by the scouts of the Elven-guard. According to one, they found the maiden all alone and her foot was wounded. Someone speculated it to be a sorceress, someone claimed it was just a petty topic, and other rumour, which was more widely accepted (though no one really said it out loud because the King might hear; and he _always_ heard anyway) that it was Erfaron who was finally back in the Greenwood.

As usual, the King heard it first. He was lounging in the library and sketching anything that crossed his mind when the Captain of the Guards burst into the quiet room and informed him what happened. When the captain said the possibility of the maiden being Erfaron, the King immediately dropped his quill and crumpled the parchment, and ran out of the library, all pressing thoughts about the kingdom vanished. The servants had to run and make way for the two Sindarin elves and heard the King silently curse the length of his blue robes.

At the infirmary, the two elves panted and went in. Santien was attending to someone seated on the bed, whose pale golden hair was tangled and covered with bits of leaves. Her back was turned to them, though her smaller frame, pale complexion and smooth hands told Thranduil that she was not the one he was hoping it would be. It made him frown a little.

"Nimrodel?"

Upon hearing her name, she turned around and saw the Elvenking striding towards her. She stood up at once, quite forgetting that Santien was tending the bleeding wound in her right foot, and threw herself in Thranduil's arms. She began to sob uncontrollably, resting her head against his chest.

"What are you doing here? More importantly, _how_ did you get here?" Thranduil himself was in daze, and looked at the auburn-haired healer questioningly.

"Afraid," Nimrodel cried. "So afraid of the forest."

The Chief Counsellor arrived at the doorway, and her bright eyes widened at the sight. She easily recognized Nimrodel, and she felt both pity and jealousy as she watched the King cradle with Nandorin elf in his arms. Only Raithon seemed to acknowledge her presence when she fully entered the infirmary.

"Why are you alone?" Thranduil gently lifted the sobbing elf's chin. He looked into her eyes. "Where is Amroth? And where is your escort?"

"No escort," Nimrodel choked, sniffling and wiping tears off her flushed cheeks. Her foot continued hurting.

The King rounded towards his Captain of the Guards, glaring.

Raithon held up his palms, trying to look innocent. "Hey, don't look at me. My scouts found her unconscious in the forest. Of course she was being chased by wargs. By the Valar we are encountering many of them since last spring. Just recently we brought down three, and there was another pack moving somewhere in our western borders. She is lucky the wargs did not harm her further; it must have been a juvenile."

"Juvenile?"

"An immature warg, a pup."

"I _know_ what juvenile means!" Thranduil could already feel his head aching.

"Mating season," Celairis suddenly spoke up from behind, and was aware that the King was finally paying attention to her. She stepped forward until she stood beside him, looking at him. "Winter serves as mating season for wolves. Since it is now summer, the newly-born pups are grown now, and are most likely released into the wild to hunt for prey."

"Well, we are not prey, are we?" He scowled at her.

She shook her head. "Definitely not, my King."

"Exactly what I meant about spring," Raithon piped up. "We have been dealing with young ones since spring. Now, more of them are appearing in the fields. Sometimes, when the fields do not supply enough food, they hunt in forests for deer and owls."

"Do we have more casualties?" Thranduil looked at Santien.

"None, except Lady Nimrodel here," the healer replied. "Will you discuss these matters elsewhere? I still need to tend to her wound and the three of you are quite not helping me." She took Nimrodel's hand and told her sternly to sit down and stay there, also added, "Stop crying. It will not help your wound to heal any faster."

"Don't be so mean now," Raithon called out from behind.

"For one thing, it is her fault for running way from Lórinand," Santien huffed.

Celairis approached the bed and sat on the edge. She gave a small and heart-warming smile to the traumatized Nandorin elf. "You are safe here, Nimrodel, extremely safe. Rest until your strength returns, all right? We are here for you, and Lady Santien here promises to make the pain go away." She brushed a strand of golden hair away from Nimrodel's cheek. "I am sure King Amroth has sent his marchwardens to fetch you."

"No, not marchwardens." Nimrodel sniffed. "Not marchwardens this time."

Santien and Celairis exchanged curious glances.

"What do you mean?"

"I am sure Amroth will _not_ send marchwardens for me." Nimrodel choked. "I am afraid he will send Erfaron instead."

The name alone struck them like lightning. Everyone, except Nimrodel, seemed to have frozen on the spot. Santien fell silent, Raithon was gaping, and Celairis found herself looking over her shoulder, watching the sudden change in the King's mood. Thranduil's face was stern and his jaw clenched, just as his hand curled into a tight fist. He breathed heavily, as though he was nervous, and his blue eyes tried hard not to look at anyone.

Celairis watched, her heart slowly sinking and her mind went back to the days she and Thranduil spent together—all the gifts and teases, the little laughs and petty arguments. Two thousand years later and she could not yet manage his volatile temper, though she was proud to admit to herself that she was pleasing Thranduil by managing the palace for him.

"Erfaron..." The King finally managed to get the name out of his mouth. "In Lórinand?"

"Yes," Nimrodel confirmed, unaware of the tension. "Summoned by the King himself."

"Why? Did something happen, other than the accident?"

Celairis did not fail to notice how Thranduil stepped forward, looking all curious and eager to hear more. She felt herself sinking into the background, once again unseen by the King and his friends, as they focused on hearing news.

"Because—" Nimrodel stopped short. It was her and Amroth's secret, and Erfaron herself remained in the dark about it.

Then, before she could refuse to continue, one of the Silvan scouts jogged and stood by the entrance. He nodded to the Captain of the Guards and waved him over. When Raithon crossed his arms over his chest and approached, the young scout had to tiptoe and whisper something in his ear. When Raithon pulled back, his dark eyes were wide in disbelief. It alerted Santien, Nimrodel, Celairis, and Thranduil—especially Thranduil.

"One of the wardens," Raithon announced, his voice uncertain and cautious, "has come for Lady Nimrodel."

* * *

**Next Chapter:** The King meets his guest.

**Author's Notes:** AHHHH! So close, we are _so_ close, people!

***juliacensi95** \- Sounds interesting, Guilia! I study Tourism and it focuses on airlines, tour guiding and hotel operations, and my favourite part is we study countries and their famous tourist spots. It is one of the reasons why I like talking so much about the people here, because in school we learn about other countries while here in the internet I could actually talk to the people who live in those countries we're studying. Very exciting!

Yeah, Nimrodel kinda wants to remind Amroth what he would lose when he wouldn't agree to her wishes. Thus, she runs away. Bravo, Nimrodel, genius! And HALDIR! *squeals* Yes, I really like Haldir (but not in the movies because he died T_T). Unlike Erestor, he is actually the good big brother who looks after his brothers without being selfish or controlling, just plain caring and kind. Let's ship Haldir/Eryn as friends! *throws confetti*

Let's hope no more attacks would come to Europe. Now that you've mentioned Rome and the Vatican, those are one of my favourite spots in the world! I really like the historical vibes it gives (or is it just in the pictures I see?) I would really love to go there to learn.

***Rosiethehobbit17** \- Sorry if the warg did not eat Nimrodel, but she sure got some wounded foot! Take that! MUA HA HA HA! She deserves more than just a bleeding foot. Now that Thrandy's around, he should give her a good smack on the head as vengeance for what she did emotionally to cousin Amroth!

***llcyyxx** \- LOL. I guess reading chapters in chunks sounds more efficient than waiting every week because the tension would probably kill me if I was reading a story, too. Haldir and Eryn best friends forever! It's about time Eryn gets a friend who doesn't get possessive over the years *cough*Glorfindel*cough*. Don't worry! It never crossed my mind to write something like that. It would have been plausible, but the meeting's been long overdue. I might have something up in my sleeves for something worse. *smiles evilly*

***lauren souliere** \- Please don't kneel! Only Loki would ask you to do something like that! There, there, here's a cookie while we wait for their meeting...

***Lord Illyren** \- Nim-RUDE-el has no idea what kind of trouble she is in now. The King should get out of his shell soon!

***Keara** \- Hooray for good big brother Haldir! Sorry, Erestor, but the Brother-of-the-Year award goes to Haldir now! I am glad you like Orophin and Rumil's portrayal. They are such darlings!

***Lingua Pura** \- Thank you very much! I do try to keep them well-balanced and kind of relatable in real life. So I guess Erestor does represent all the strict parents out there.

***Drasna** \- Aww, thank you! Are you going to join the Glorfy/Eryn ship? I think there is still room! Welcome!

***UMAibow** \- For a moment there, Eryn has acted maturely while Haldir (being an inexperienced warden who barely gets out of the forest) becomes overwhelmed with the impending danger that he could not control himself. LOL. He's young and we know how young people (or elves) could be a little reckless.

***Essie** \- Not to worry, dear friend! Thrandy and Eryn shall meet soon! Thank you for the review!

***Rarora** \- You got it! *hugs you tightly* You're right about Eryn being the dawn-maiden and Thrandy being the dark-elf. They are so-called dawn and dark because of their personality; Eryn is vibrant whereas Thrandy is ill-tempered. When Thrandy got lonely because of Eryn's absence, he sought for someone else's company, which is Celairis, the river-maiden. In Eryn's story though, the dark-elf and river-maiden get together. Are we going to let that happen?!

Whaaat? You're shipping Haldir with Eryn! Noooo, Glorfindel would not be pleased! LOL. Just kidding! He's my sweet little warrior.


	52. From Greenwood

**Chapter 52**

_**From Greenwood**_

* * *

The palace of the Greenwood Elvenking was built and carved into underground caves, and was only accessible through the narrow stone pathway between the large stone gate and the edge of the forest. Underneath the bridge was a swift-running stream, with sharp rocks at the sides and waters cold as ice that could be the death of anyone who could fall in. Engraved on the gates was a familiar Elvish motif of leaves and curling stems, painted in silver which seemed to be faded now. Two heavily armoured guards stood at each side of the gate, their faces covered by bronze and made them look imposing and intimidating.

Haldir was far from being intimidated. He was being escorted by one of the scouts who found him in the forest. There was a struggle, of course; because these Wood-elves did not know who he was, and thought he was an intruder. He explained that he was sent there by King Amroth to search for Lady Nimrodel, and after a series of whispering amongst the scouts, they finally nodded and led him to the fortress.

Inside, the hallways were more magnificent. It was spacious, with shafts of sunlight poking through the holes from above; despite stationed underground, the air within was fresh and the ambiance was pleasant and almost otherworldly. Countless stone bridges overlapped one another, each leading to a certain hallway, room, or cellar. Pillars were carved and painted to look like the beech trees outside, and often, there were paintings of branches and leaves on the pillars. Each had two golden lanterns that illuminated the hallways, and perhaps even warning someone not to trip and fall into the watery abyss below. It was the same stream from the outside that flowed under the bridge, and it flowed through the Forest River beyond the palace.

"We are here," one of the scouts told him. "The King waits for you."

The Marchwarden from Lórinand nodded and stepped into a hallway, which lead into another bridge and another room. After a while of walking and admiring the place, he stopped short at the sight of the marvellous throne room, with menacing antlers protruded from the back of the chair. He approached the dais, eyes warily looking up at the regal Elvenking seated at the top.

"My Lord," Haldir addressed formally and bowed. "I have come from Lórinand under strict orders of looking for Lady Nimrodel."

The King let the silence hang for a moment. His eyes were searching for something. He said with a sigh, "Indeed you are. Elaborate your errand to me and perhaps I can help you." He rested his chin on the heel of his palm, crossed his leg over the other, and stared down at the young warden with piercing eyes.

"Lady Nimrodel ran away from the forest and we supposed that—"

"We?" Thranduil interjected softly, feeling his heart race faster. "You are with someone?"

Haldir noticed the hopeful look on the King's face. He had not seen the Sinda before, but heard stories about the ill temper. "Yes, I was travelling with someone, though I am the only one to enter the forest."

"Do tell me who your companion is." Thranduil saw Raithon lurking in the shadows beside his throne, completely unseen by the warden. His friend gave a little shrug and waved his hand casually. He rolled his eyes at the captain and was relieved his guest did not see.

"Erfaron," Haldir answered reluctantly. He was not sure whether it was safe to mention her name too early. "She was travelling with me and insisted that I enter the forest on my own."

Thranduil got off his throne. He climbed down from the dais and smiled pleasantly at the fair-haired Silvan elf. It was rare for the Silvan folk to have golden hair and striking blue eyes, and _more_ infrequent for one to have silver-gold hair and blue-grey eyes. The warden stood two or three inches lower than him, though his build and arms were undoubtedly larger than his own. He gave Thranduil the impression of a cold and strict Chief Marchwarden, and perhaps even haughty, due to how his eyes stared back at the King, almost glaring.

"What is your name?"

"Haldir, my Lord."

"And you were born and raised in Lórinand?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Siblings?"

"Two younger brothers." He did not understand where this conversation was going. He only followed when the King began to walk away from the throne room and lead him elsewhere. He made sure he was three steps behind the King, while continuing to answer his questions.

"How old are you?" Thranduil crossed the bridge and led him to the dining halls.

"A hundred and ninety-three."

"Quite young. Your brothers must be too young then."

Haldir nodded, a small smile curling in his lips. He loved talking about his brothers. "One is currently a hundred and twenty-nine, and the youngest is seventy."

When he entered the dining halls, he briefly bowed to the dark-haired butler who passed by them, and continued marching on with the Elvenking. His stomach grumbled at the sight of the servants laying out foods on the long, narrow table.

The King chuckled and gestured at the table. "By all means, help yourself. You came a long way from Lórinand. Have you not eaten?"

"Oh, Erfaron gave me an apple before I set off." Haldir was planning to politely decline the offer, but he was already sitting beside the King, and waited on the meal.

A butler arrived to serve the warm lemon-cakes. He served the King first, and then the warden, and went off to fetch more food and drinks.

"I am surprised Erfaron did not come along," Thranduil murmured, looking crestfallen.

"She worries about Lady Nimrodel and the horse."

"Horse?" The King stopped short from drinking his Dorwinion wine. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What horse?"

Haldir swallowed the delectable lemon-cake and modestly wiped the crumbs off the corners of his mouth with a kerchief. "She thinks it would be troublesome if she and Lady Nimrodel shared the same horse, while I walk on the ground," he explained and eyed the newly-arrived tray of biscuits.

"Go on and eat," Thranduil urged him, and was pleased to see him reaching for the biscuits. He chuckled. "Still mindful of others, isn't she?"

"Indeed." Haldir nodded. Then, he remembered why he was there in the first place. "My Lord, about Lady Nimrodel—"

"Don't worry. She is fine, although she did prick her foot and left it bleeding for a couple of hours. The best healer has already tended to her wounds, and she has gotten some sleep before you arrived. After you finish eating, she may come and leave the forest with you."

"I do hope she would not take long," Haldir murmured. "I left Erfaron out in the fields across the Great River. King Amroth would scold me if _both_ Lady Nimrodel and Erfaron get into trouble with the wargs." He sighed.

The King's eyes shot up in alarm. "Wargs? You mean inside the forest?"

"No, my Lord," Haldir answered, shaking his head. "Wargs outside the forest. There was a pair that ran after us back in the Gladden Fields."

Fear crept up in his system. Since when was the last time Thranduil truly felt fear? It must have been a thousand years ago.

"Was she hurt? Did you kill the wargs?"

Again, Haldir shook his head. "She did not let me. Instead, we just escaped and left the Fields."

Scowling, the Elvenking looked up and saw Raithon still lingering around. He beckoned him closer, keeping his eyes locked on his friend's dark eyes; and he said, "Wargs _outside_ the forest, Raithon?"

The Captain of the Guards blinked. "I thought we are strictly ordered to keep watch on our borders. The Old Ford and the Gladden Fields are kilometres away from our borders, and we cannot afford to send too many of our scouts so far out. The kingdom stretches from northern Greenwood _way_ down beyond the Old Forest Road. If we send scouts all over, guards here in the palace would decrease."

Thranduil did not like the tone of Raithon's voice. "And we are just going to ignore those foul beasts run around?"

"I did not say that, only that we must think about this matter thoroughly and not in the middle of lunch." Raithon leaned over and snatched some biscuits. "Talk to me when you're done interrogating your guest. Welcome to Greenwood, Haldir," he said to the startled warden, his voice ever amiable when meeting strangers. Thranduil had often complained that the Captain of the Guards must be intimidating, not friendly.

When Raithon was completely out of sight, Haldir looked at the Elvenking. "So much has happened already, my Lord. I really need to get back to Erfaron."

"Good decision, unless you want her to wait for you longer." Thranduil nodded and sent someone to fetch Nimrodel from the infirmary.

* * *

Afternoon waned into twilight, and then came the evening. High above, the peaks were white with snow. The Old Ford looked deserted and strange, with the shadows of the Misty Mountains looking like hulking creatures. The rest of the field was a dark and bleak emptiness. There were no trees, except across the Great River where the Woodland Realm was; there was only the wide expanse of endless dried ground and some patches of grasses.

Feeling all alone, and without her harp, Erynlith began to sing to occupy herself.

"_She walked by day_

_Under mantle grey_

_And hood of clouded blue;_

_But she went by night_

_All glittering bright_

_Under the starlit sky."_

Something moved swiftly on her left. It was all she had been waiting for all night. She raised her voice a notch.

"_And her slippers frail_

_Of fishes' mail_

_Flashed as she went by_

_To her dancing-pool,_

_And on mirror cool_

_Of windless water played."_

Her eyes caught glimpse of a tawny beast standing not so far from her, growling. In the darkness, its amber eyes gleamed and its muzzle wrinkled back to showcase rows of sharp fangs. The warg carefully approached her, head down and steps silent like a predator ready to pounce. Saliva drizzled from its large mouth, splattering the ground. Blood oozed from its shoulder where Haldir had struck it with an arrow in the chase earlier.

Now that she could see the warg closing in on her, Erynlith reached out for her bow and hummed a little tune.

"_So still on her own_

_An elf alone_

_Singing as before_

_With flowers in hair_

_And voice fair_

_And slippers frail."_

The little growl from the warg turned into an enraged roar. It leapt towards her, mouth wide and arms wide open. Erynlith was a second late from evading, after she stumbled on her feet and almost fell on the ground. She turned back and saw the large beast, almost as big as her stallion, coming to her. Clutching her bow, she swung it like a sword and hit the beast on the lower jaw, though it did little to no damage at all. The warg shook its great head and snapped its mouth, foam trickling from its chin and coating the bloody fur.

It barked at her and came in again; she ran back to get some good distance while preparing to take the shot. It was fast, a fact that surprised her due to the immense size; naturally, big creatures moved slower than small and slender creatures, like deer and foxes. She had never seen a warg this big, so she assumed it was old and only looking for something to hunt.

"Nice doggie, tra-lay." She gulped, keeping her eyes locked on those angry amber ones. The warg kept advancing, although it was only walking towards her, its head lowered and the bushy tail moving from side to side. If the warg continued closing in the distance between them, she could not use her bow and arrows properly. She briefly glanced at Great River rushing on her left side, while her right hand slowly reached behind her waist. She hummed again, keeping the warg a little confused.

"_There were Elves of old, and strong spells_

_Under green hills in hollow dells_

_They sang as they wrought many fair things,_

_And the bright crowns of the Elvenkings."_

Her little friend the warg looked unhappy with her new song. It leapt yet again, barking, and came in contact with her bow. It staggered for a while and advanced to tackle her. Erynlith did not have the time to evade; she was knocked off her feet, the bow suddenly tossed aside. For a moment she focused on the pain in the back of her head, and the terrifying feeling that she could not breathe because of the thick fur on the warg's underbelly, the blood-coated fur and hot breath smelled pungent and maddening. She wriggled underneath the beast, which snapped its head here and there, trying to bite onto her shoulder or throat, but her hands closed in on the upper and lower jaw, the damp saliva soaking her blue tunic.

She wrestled the warg for a while, feeling her back being kneaded on the ground and her arms becoming tired. The warg snatched its head back from her hands, freeing her, and barked angrily as it watched its prey roll on the dusty ground. Erynlith panted and saw in her blurry vision that the warg was sprinting again; she grabbed her bow and spilled arrows, aimed, and fired. It missed. She miscalculated the distance. The warg tackled her, knocking the air from her lungs, and she groaned—the feeling of helplessness making her frustrated. Was this the Erfaron that everyone so admired in Lórinand, now beaten into dust by one warg?

It tackled her again, gentler this time. The impact was not even strong enough to make her stagger and fall back. She just knelt there, panting heavily, while the warg circled around her and wagged its tail.

_It wants to play_, she realized. _Not an old warg_, _but a young one__—a pup_.

She wiped her forehead using the sleeve of her tunic, unaware that it only splattered her face with mud and blood from the warg's shoulder wound. Eyes still watching the beast, she crawled on all fours and went to her bow. The warg growled when she touched it, but she hummed again, lifted the bow, and waved it around. It surprised her to see that the warg's amber eyes suddenly focused on the bow. One hand continued waving it while the other reached out for the dagger behind her waist. Then, with a little whistle, she tossed the bow not too far away from her and watched as the young warg run after it.

She paused until it dashed past her. Then, bracing herself and putting all her strength in her arms and hands, she grabbed a handful of the tawny fur and forced the warg to turn back to her. Her other hand that held the dagger came slashing in, catching the left ear first and then pierced through the throat. An agonized howl escaped the creature and it desperately scratched and barked until her hold on its fur was released. She panted again and felt warm blood soaked her left sleeve. To end the warg's suffering, she fetched her bow, aimed her arrow at the head, and fired. The howling ceased.

Erynlith collapsed beside the beast and slowly drifted off to sleep, her thoughts going back to Haldir. She hoped he safely found his way to the Elvenking's Halls. She supposed it was better for her to be attacked by the warg, not the young warden. He had so much to learn. _Better me than him, yes._

* * *

The night was cold and peaceful. It was moonless, yet overhead thousand stars burned bright. The gates of the Halls opened, and out came Haldir and Lady Nimrodel. She was guided by one of the guards to climb on the horse, whilst the warden held on to the reins and looked back at the Captain of the Guards and his King. Haldir was given a new set of travelling clothes as gift, more food and wine for the journey back home, and the message of Raithon's regards to King Amroth's cousin.

Haldir thanked them profusely and was about to leave when the Elvenking approached him.

"Take care on the road," Thranduil said, smiling down at him. It felt rather different to be smiling at someone who was no more than a stranger to him, but he knew Haldir had been with a certain minstrel. He tapped the warden's shoulder and whispered in his ear, "Tell Erfaron..." _What? What do I want to tell her? _He closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

"My Lord?" Haldir blinked.

Thranduil reopened his eyes and firmly said, "Tell Erfaron that I shall see her soon, when the opportunity rises."

* * *

*_Little Princess Mee and The Hoard_ \- J.R.R. Tolkien

**Next Chapter:** Nimrodel gets what she wants. Erynlith gets less.

**Author's Notes:** Yay for Thrandy meeting Haldir? No? Maybe I should hide behind a tree now... but Thrandy himself states he would come for her! *hides behind tree anyway* Thank you for reading! Do not forget to leave reviews, my dearly beloved!

***crazykenz** \- Nimrodel has some spoiled little lady issues. She throws tantrum when she doesn't get what she wants. Cousin Amroth is wasted on her. LOL. Thank for the review!

***Rosiethehobbit17** \- Or we could go to Mordor and offer Nimrodel to our Dark Lord Sauron and be done with it! She'd stay there until the War of the Ring, and when Mt. Doom bursts, she'd be gone with it! *cackles evilly* Too morbid? Ach, it's Nimrodel we're talking about anyway! Also, I would like to have a big brother like Haldir. Thank you and may you enjoy your weekend as well, Rosie!

***SparklesJustReads** \- Ohhh! Forgive me for not making them meet... for now. Don't worry, I think Thrandy is as nervous as you are. :)

***Zip001** \- Yes, Eryn would normally be shy about it, but seeing Haldir look and talk so sincerely, it made her change her mind. LOL. Ninny Nimrodel! I like the ring to it! Sorry but the Eryn and Thrandy meeting will have to be postponed for now. Thank you for the review!

***juliacensi95** \- Thank you! My course also involves learning languages. Last semester we were learning Japanese and now we're learning Russian. It gets really hard sometimes because I get all confused and mix all the languages up. LOL. I sure hope I could travel around and see Rome. It is such a wonderful and historical place. *sighs dreamily*

Once again, well done! You described Haldir's character way better than I could! As children we do have our share of childhood heroes, so when Haldir gets to meet his face to face, he comes back to being the young elf he is supposed to be, and not the cold marchwarden who has brothers to watch over and a forest to protect. #ErynHaldirBBFs

Thrandy your crush on Eryn is showing... TEAM THRARYN INDEED! XD

Oh, don't worry about long reviews! I love reading them and they never fail to make me smile. Sometimes I read them first thing in the morning and it makes my day all bright and wonderful. So thank you and all the others who are reviewing! *hugs all of you*

***Rarora** \- In a few more chapters, they would meet! Like Thrandy once said, "_I am patient, I can wait_."

***Keara** \- By all means, please do fall in love with Haldir! Let no one tell you that falling in love with Elves is wrong. Let no one tell you otherwise! XD

***Drasna** \- Why, thank you! I'm glad you like the weekly updates (because I do have a lot of time in my hands). Glorfindel and Eryn forever you say? Ha! Tell that to Thrandy when he goes to see her. But noooo. It means Glorfy would be friendzoned. No, no our beloved warrior. *pats Glorfy on the head*

***Star of Sea** \- What? Oh noooo! Why did you read the Wikia? Nooooo. LOL. You just spoiled yourself, my friend. Think of happy thoughts, think of happy thoughts instead. Celairis needs to chill and return to her counsellor duties while Eryn gets Thrandy for herself. ;)

***Saura9** \- Thank you very much! Hooray for cutie Haldir!

***Gremalow** \- In one corner we have Glorfy/Eryn group, and in the other we have the Thrandy/Eryn group. Poor Celairis. She doesn't have a place in between. No need to be harsh on her, though she does get a little clingy to her King.

***Flucas** \- Awww, I miss having Glorfindel around, too. He's probably keeping to himself in Rivendell until Eryn comes back.

***Lord Illyren** \- Eryn did not go to Greenwood because she knew the wargs were chasing them, and she could not risk endangering both herself and Haldir. So while Haldir fetches Nimrodel in the forest, she stays behind to keep the wargs from advancing. Yeah, she gets the feeling to watch over the young ones now that she is old herself. But worry not! She'll meet Thrandy soon!

***xSiriuslyPadfoot** \- OMG! I haven't seen you for so long, my friend! How are you and where have you been? Thank you for returning to this story and good luck on reading the rest of the chapters. :)


	53. Next in Line

**Chapter 53**

_**Next in Line**_

* * *

In her dream, she was lost in the forest—a great beech forest. On her left was a narrow river. The air was fresh and heavy with the scent of flowers, and on the branches of the trees were small nightingales with brown and white plumage, except for the blue patch on their throats. The forest was alive with their songs. Grass was all over the area, tall blades of grass reaching her knees. When she looked up, she saw the shafts of sunlight poking through the thick leaves. The trees pressed close now, shutting off the light, and in the darkness she saw someone moving towards her.

A Marchwarden approached her, who carried a white bow in hand. His grey eyes looked directly into hers, kind and solemn. As he walked, his silver hair glinted like moonlight, and his soft, smiling face regarded her with warmth. She felt drawn to him, for some strange reason, and could not help but walk towards the warden, her own grey eyes locked with his. He held out his hand for her, still smiling. When she touched his hand and gazed closer to his face, she was surprised that he looked almost exactly like her. She stumbled a little, shocked and unsure, and the silver-haired warden caught her just in time. He bent down and whispered in her ear, "Welcome to the Forest, _penneth_."

* * *

Erynlith woke up with a start. She immediately sat up on the bed, her pillows and blanket scattered all over her body. For a moment she was more confused to see the white walls of her room, the bedside table and round window on her left. She blinked and looked around, watching quietly as the early morning light danced on the floor of her chamber. Her hand went to her head, remembering the painful sensation when the young warg tackled her to the ground, and felt bandages wrapped around her forehead. Did she get injured? She did not remember. Both her hands were covered in bandages; when she tossed the blanket aside, it was a relief not one leg was broken.

As though on cue, someone entered the room.

The same dark golden-haired attendant came and brought a silver tray. She bowed and made her way towards the bedside table, where she laid out clean bandages and a bowl of soup. "Good morning, Erfaron," she said.

"Yes, um, what happened?"

"You have been sleeping for more than a day."

She shook her head. "How did I get here?"

The attendant laughed softly. "One of the marchwardens found you in the Old Ford and said you were unconscious. He and Lady Nimrodel came all the way from Greenwood and carried you from the Old Ford to here, in Lórinand. You were so brave, Erfaron. Haldir told us you brought down a warg all alone." She finished stacking the bandages. "King Amroth was most worried that he ordered the splinter on his leg to be removed so that he could see you."

"He did?" Erynlith could not believe what she was hearing. She sent Haldir to Greenwood so that he and Nimrodel could be comfortable when they travelled back; in the end, it was her who became the burden and had to be carried across miles of fields because she entertained a warg and fell unconscious. "Where are they now?"

"King Amroth has resumed running the kingdom. He orders that you get more rest, Erfaron."

Feeling her head thump painfully again, Erynlith was more than happy to get more sleep and dream about the silver-haired marchwarden with a bow.

* * *

The Elvenking drew a deep breath. He clutched the silver railing that curled on a great tree. His knuckles whitened from his firm grip. Was he ready for this? Shaking his head, the golden-haired Sindarin King ascended the flet. He found his beloved curled on her bed, trembling in her great fear. Amroth worried that Nimrodel might fade this way; her relentless fear for the unknown had risen drastically since she left the forest and went to Greenwood. She thought Lórinand became more vulnerable and wished for Amroth to take her away.

But how could he leave his people?

"Nimrodel," Amroth called out softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. He reached out for her and rubbed her shoulder. "Nimrodel, all is well, beloved. Do not fear anymore."

The lady turned to him, her face pale and her lips quivering. She quickly embraced him, burying her face in Amroth's green robe. She began to sob, clutching on to him as though her life depended on it. And the King kissed her forehead and held her tightly. Finally, Nimrodel looked up and kissed her beloved on his lips.

"Tell me what ails you," Amroth said after their lips parted. When she was about to give a long rant in Silvan, the King interjected: "In Westron, _meleth_."

Nimrodel inhaled sharply and simply said, "I want to leave."

"Leave?" Amroth repeated incredulously. "Where to, beloved? Do you wish to visit Rivendell or Greenwood?"

"No." Nimrodel shook her head fervently, golden locks swaying about her pale shoulders. She grasped the King's hand and looked deeply into his grey eyes. "Leave… Middle-earth... where life is safe…"

Amroth knew the conversation would lead there. What was he to do? Would he leave Middle-earth for Nimrodel? Or lose her and continue to be king? The weight of the crown that rested upon his head was not his choice, as it was to Thranduil. Both became kings after their losses, and Amroth would not be the first to give his crown up.

"But Nimrodel, please listen. I can protect you, you and our people. I can protect the forest in another thousand years. No more orcs will come to us. I have given you the flet that you wanted. Why must you ask to leave Middle-earth? Please, my love. Stay here with me."

"But I cannot wait," she whispered.

Amroth scooted closer to her. "Marry me," he said softly, well-knowing that it was not the right time to propose to her. But like her, he was restless. If he should continue to be King of Lórinand, he would need a queen, and Nimrodel was all he could ever think of.

"No." Her answer was stern and simple. "I will not."

He could feel his heart crushing with each passing second. "W-Why not, _meleth_?"

Tears stung her eyes. "Please, just take me away from the world."

Nimrodel moved to stand up but her wrists were pulled gently by the King. Amroth pulled her back on the bed, tears welling in the corners of his grey eyes. Instantly, she felt sorry for the rejection. She loved Amroth very much; he was all she could ever ask for. Her heart melted as the first tear fell from his cheeks, and she wiped the tear away. Nimrodel leaned and kissed him softly on the lips, which was eagerly returned by the passionate King.

"Please…" Amroth pleaded quietly, kissing her palm. "Tell me what it would take for you to marry me and it shall be done, my love."

"I already told you," Nimrodel answered stubbornly. "I wish for you to take me in a land of peace. Once we have left, I will marry you, my King." She kissed him again.

"Do you promise that?"

"I will hold on to that." She smiled sweetly at him. "All my promises I hold dear and close to my heart. My greatest wish is to be safe with you, my love. Will you grant me that wish?"

Amroth was reluctant. Marrying her would mean the loss of his kingdom, his _father's_ kingdom. Was he ready to give up on that for her? Nimrodel was his first and definitely his last love; there was no backing out now. A few moments later, he finally nodded and kissed her passionately.

"I will take you to a land of peace," Amroth promised. "But what will become of Lórinand after we left?"

Nimrodel thought for a while, and then said, "Leave the leadership to Erfaron. You are cousins, are you not? She has the right to inherit your father's forest as you are family."

"She is not the one for leadership, _meleth_." Amroth had always worried that it would come to that. He knew the next to the throne would no one except his younger cousin—the minstrel from Rivendell who once rejected the Prince of Greenwood and who had experience in ruling a kingdom next to zero. Erynlith would be furious with him, and then confusion would come after. He did not know how to handle that; but for his love for Nimrodel, everything could happen.

"Do not worry. I will explain to the others, and I am marrying you."

Nimrodel smiled. "I look forward to that."

* * *

It was late in the afternoon when Erynlith woke up again. This time, she removed the bandages around her forehead and hands, saw the little scratches the warg made in her palms, and did not give it too much attention. She showered and washed her hair, removing the mud, and then went out to dress herself in an old cream gown that King Amdír had given so long ago. She lingered on the flet for a while, leaning against the silver railing and looking down on the courtyard. When she felt her stomach grumble, she gave in and headed to the kitchens.

Everyone in the kitchens stopped what they were doing, and bowed at once.

"Oh, good afternoon, my Lady."

Erynlith blinked at them and decided to ignore their formal tone. "Ah, good afternoon, tra-la. Do you have something for me to eat?"

"Yes! Please wait for a while!" The female elf who led the kitchens whirled around and snatched something from the cupboards, took a freshly-baked pie and a bottle of wine. She wiped her hands on her white apron and presented the meal to her.

"T-Thank you...?" Erynlith accepted the meal and looked around, observing everyone looked tensed to have her inside. She looked back at the leader and murmured, "I was thinking of an apple or two, but thank you very much for this." She smiled and went out, still flabbergasted.

She carried her food and went all the way towards the intersecting rivers, where the barracks were. Most of the wardens were gone to patrol the forest, and only few remained to guard the fortress. Erynlith smiled and waved a hand at them, but the wardens only saluted to her and went on. Her hand went limp to her side. _Did I do something wrong?_ She cradled her food between her arms and climbed the winding staircase. No one seemed to notice her presence, which prompted her to approach anyone who looked familiar.

Orgilion was not there, it was very plain to see. He was the tallest elf in Lórinand, and perhaps even taller than Glorfindel; thinking about her golden-haired friend made her want to return to Rivendell. When Erynlith found the familiar pair of brothers, she sprinted.

"Rúmil," she called cheerfully, waving him over. "Orophin!"

The brothers turned to her. Unlike a few days ago, when they grinned and talked to her enthusiastically, Orophin and Rúmil were only silent and bowed to her. Erynlith thought it was strange that no one was talking to her. Now, she was more confused when none of the two brothers went forward to talk or ask her questions.

"Is something the matter? Am I missing something here?"

"No problem at all, my Lady," Orophin answered, bowing again.

"Is there something you would like us to help you with?" Rúmil cocked his head to the side, looking curious, though he made no attempt to approach her.

"Yes!" Erynlith gestured to the food in her arms. "Could you help me eat all this? Someone from the kitchens gave me too much to eat, tra-lay."

The two Silvan elves glanced doubtfully at each other. The smile on Erynlith's face faltered. Something was _definitely_ wrong.

"We cannot do so, my Lady," Rúmil told her solemnly. "We have orders to return to the northern borders and keep watch if any of the dwarves harm us again."

"Can I come?" She looked at them hopefully, the food all forgotten.

Orophin shook his head and frowned a little. "I am sorry, my Lady. You have just returned from the Old Ford and you need to get some rest. It would be best if you return to the palace now."

She cast her eyes on the ground. "Oh, of course. You two be careful while patrolling." Then, with a heavy heart, she turned around and left the barracks.

After a while of silence, the brothers looked again at each other and sighed. It was hard to refuse someone without showing emotions. Their older brother Haldir was good at masking emotions; it was easy for him to look so intimidating and commanding if he needed, and to smile if he wanted. Right now, Haldir was stationed by the Chief Marchwarden to keep watch in the southern borders, in case wargs or orcs come in sight.

At length, Orophin raked his fingers through his silver-gold hair. "Do you think she's going to be okay?"

Rúmil shrugged. "I hope so. I really wanted to ask Erfaron about what happened the other night with the warg."

"Hush!" Orophin sharply whispered and pulled his younger brother elsewhere. "From now on, we cannot call her that. King Amroth has given orders, remember?"

"Oh right. I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

In the night, there was a huge feast set in the courtyard. Despite the bustling commotion in the heart of the forest, Amroth had pulled his cousin away from the festivities and into the darkness. They stood in silence beside the river that was Nimrodel's home. Erynlith thought the King looked pale and restless.

"Are you alright, Amroth?" She questioned, pulling her grey cloak closer. The wind was cold and rather strong tonight. "Did something happen and you want to talk about it?"

The King blinked and cleared his throat. He wanted to open up everything to the family he had left. Perhaps she would understand, right? She was family after all.

"You see, Eryn, I have a confession to make…" Amroth drawled out, unable to think of the right words he wanted.

Instantly, Erynlith was alarmed and stepped closer. She reached out for the King's hand and held it firmly. She smiled at him, silently telling him that everything would be well. But deep inside, she feared what he was to tell her. Did it have something to do with everyone's aversion to her that afternoon? Her grip on his hand tightened just as Amroth sighed in defeat.

Her cousin met her eyes again, those grey eyes that were akin to him.

"Eryn, Nimrodel and I have plighted our troth, but there is one big problem…"

* * *

**Next Chapter:** A journey to the Havens.

**Author's Notes:** Welp, this is a short chapter (like the last one). I really had a very busy week and I did not have enough time to edit the draft and add more stuff. Here we finally have Amroth's decision to leave his kingdom out of love for n̶i̶n̶n̶y̶ Nimrodel, but as all rushed decisions often go, there is someone who gets stuck in between: Erynlith.

Currently, I am out of town and just updating this chapter through mobile. It's quite difficult so I'll keep this short. I promise to do better next time!

By the way, I published a new series of drabbles about Eryn's childhood with Erestor. So for those who are looking for random misadventures of little elflings and exasperated captains, you could read this. ;)

***Rosiethehobbit17** \- Yes, Thrandy might get off his royal ass now that he knows Eryn is in Lorinand. Oohh, planning weddings and morning sickness?! Sounds interesting! Tell me more, Rosie (if you don't my asking :D).

***melodicechoes** \- The suspense would end soon, I assure you! :)

***xSiriuslyPadfoot** \- Thank you! I patterned ninny Nimrodel's character from what little description Tolkien mentioned. She really doesn't like all these strangers going in and out of her home, so I visualized her as someone naturally insecure of her surroundings.

***SirAvery** \- Welcome! Thank you very much for your kind review! Indeed, for someone who reads and writes a lot, your wordwould be taken as a compliment and motivation from now on. Thank you for putting up with Eryn's antics and Thranduil's mood swings throughout these chapters. You're right about Eryn and Glorfindel being dependent on each other, especially Glorfindel. Perhaps the greatest challenge for both of them would be to handle Thranduil. But we'll get there soon. Again, thanks for the wonderful review!

***Lord Illyren** \- Nope, this time it's Amroth and Nimrodel doing something foolish. Eryn just happens to be stuck between them.

***Overlord Rousdower** \- Oh noooo, the fuzzy wuzzy warg! :'(

***Drasna** \- So close, yet so far away!

***Saura9** \- Haldir is just really a big teddy bear in an elf body! I bet he's huggable!

***Flucas** \- If Glorfindel walks in on them, Thranduil's definitely not going to appreciate it! The fourth kinslaying might start. XD

***May** \- Worry not; I am not putting Glorfindel out of the picture just yet. I would love to make more fluffy chapters about Eryn and Glorfy.

***Zip001** \- I think Thrandy was in an incredibly good mood because he knows Eryn was within his reach, especially now that he's met Haldir. Now he's just waiting for the opportunity to make a move. Celairis won't like him for that, I'm sure.


	54. The Long-awaited Departure

**Chapter 54**

_**The Long-awaited Departure**_

* * *

The grey-cloaked elves rode in silence. There were two banner-bearers that rode in the front, and three that served as their lookout. The King and his Lady were in different horses, but their hands were clasped tightly. Amroth had forsaken his crown and left it in his chamber at the palace, along with all his other personal belongings. His formal and luxurious robes as King of Lórinand were left and replaced by a simple travelling robe, green and gold. The images of his father flashed before him, and with each step of his white horse, he wondered if he was doing the right thing. Beside him, Nimrodel looked happier; the smile that he missed was once again on her beautiful face. And there, he knew; he was doing the right thing.

Behind him, Erynlith and Orgilion followed in equal silence. No words fell in between the two elves, and Orgilion did not wonder anymore. Glancing at her, he saw Erynlith's eyes were absent-mindedly focused on the reins of her black horse, her grip none too gentle. She huddled closer to the grey cloak that she wore, her bow and quiver fastened behind her back. Orgilion knew it was supposed to be a long journey; he brought nothing but his armour and sword. His brown hair flew with the wind.

"Chief Marchwarden." A soft voice snapped him back to reality.

Looking behind him, he saw one of the Silvan maiden rode towards him and come between him and Erynlith. She had pale golden hair like Lady Nimrodel, and her eyes were grey as the cloudless night. She was smiling as she approached the warrior. Orgilion recognized this one; she was one of the handmaidens of Lady Nimrodel. But the name, he had forgotten.

"My lady," he greeted her with a small smile. "Enjoying the journey so far?"

The Silvan maiden nodded enthusiastically. She had been Erynlith's attendant during her brief stay in the forest. "I am. How long would it take for us to reach the White Mountains?"

Orgilion narrowed his eyes and estimated the distance. The White Mountains would at least be a few days ahead of them. The small staff of elves was moving at a rather slow pace; if he had been an impatient elf, he would have urged their horses to run until reaching the mountains. He wouldn't have done that; the King wanted to take his time travelling and his cousin, the sombre Sindarin elf who rode beside him, looked unhappy with the turn of events.

And so, he answered Mithrellas's question cordially. She kept on asking more and more questions, and he answered with all his power.

"Are you sailing with us to the West?" Mithrellas asked again.

"I suppose not. The Elvenking personally asked me to watch over Erfaron." When he said that, he looked beside him and saw Erynlith riding away, her head lowered, as though she didn't want to hear the conversation. Orgilion sighed and knew for a long time that King Amroth's plan was to leave Lórinand in her hands after all.

"What about the other wardens? Would they follow to the West, too?"

"Perhaps." He smiled a fatherly smile and felt the urge to pat Mithrellas on the head. She sounded like an elfling. "When they finally have enough of this land, they would sail West."

Ahead of the small group, Nimrodel could not help but hum a tune to herself, while her right hand still held Amroth's left. She was so happy to leave the miserable forest that had been overrun by orcs and wargs and dwarves long as long as she could remember. Initially she felt sadness upon knowing that she could not see Lórinand any longer; it was her home long before King Oropher and King Amdír showed up in the forest and claimed it as they own and called themselves Elvenkings. She had seen how Lórinand started from a small forest into a great one, and watched in satisfaction as golden trees grew and blossomed each year. She would miss everyone she had known, all the friends she made and the people she genuinely cared about; she already missed the river beside her home, the one in which she spent all those times staring at her reflection and dipping her feet into the cold water.

Nimrodel looked at her beloved again and frowned. She saw that he was not smiling at all; his eyes stared blankly up ahead. He was flanked by two of Orgilion's most experienced wardens, while the young wardens (which included Haldir and his brothers) were left behind in Lórinand.

"Amroth," she whispered, squeezing his hand. "What bothers you?"

The great Elvenking turned to her and shook his head. "Nothing at all. I just hope Thranduil receives the letter I sent to him."

"Yes." She nodded. "I am sure he reads it right now and understands our decision. He loves you like a brother."

"If he had a brother," Amroth said, laughing softly, "he would not feel so lonely in his woods."

"Do _you_ feel lonely?"

"No, not while you're here." He smiled and kissed her hand. "Though I worry about what happens next when Eryn returns to the forest." He looked back and saw their subject riding behind the company, neither singing nor taking to someone. He felt sorry for her, and he wished he could make her smile again like the olden days. But this was his decision now.

Nimrodel nodded again. "You should have sent for Lord Elrond instead," she told him. "Perhaps he could be of help."

For the first time since leaving the forest, Amroth smiled a little. "No, I am sure Thranduil already has it covered."

* * *

The Chief Counsellor of Greenwood was nervous when she first read that letter. She read it not out of disrespect or suspicion for the King, but Thranduil himself specifically instructed her to read all letters that might come and go, especially those that came from the neighbouring golden forest. She had thanked the scout who delivered it to her chambers, and had to clear her desk from all the parchments and quills to make way for the letter. It was signed by Amroth himself, written on silver ink, and addressed assistance to Thranduil.

Celairis did not know whether to show it to the King or dump it underneath her bed. When the name Erfaron was mentioned in the letter, her bright blue eyes immediately read whatever that was about Erfaron and felt herself sweating. She bit her lower lip, uncertain and really nervous. Would she tell the King about this? Not only that, but Amroth mentioned about his departure, and Celairis felt sorry not to be able to bid farewell to him and Nimrodel.

For the umpteenth time since receiving it, she read and studied the contents, made herself look presentable, and went for the King.

It was not hard to locate him. Ever since the marchwarden from Lórinand arrived last week, Thranduil had been talking with the Captain of the Guards regarding the safety of the great forest. As what Thranduil shared to her before, he wanted to do something about those lingering wargs, especially when it was winter and those creatures were desperate to look for food.

"Ah, Celairis." Thranduil seemed to be in a good mood, again stemming from last week's visit of the marchwarden. He sat at the head of a long table, wearing a robe of blue silk and a crown of beige leaves. He was smiling when the dark-haired counsellor entered, and his hand gestured her to come closer.

Beside the King was Raithon, clad in his green tunic and brown leather vest. He smiled as well and nodded to her.

"Good morning, _Aran nín_." She smiled pleasantly at the King, taking advantage of his agreeable mood.

"What have you there?" Thranduil eyed the letter in her hands and sipped lightly on his goblet of wine. There was a small platter of biscuits near his elbow where the Captain of the Guards leaned over to get some. "An important letter, I assume."

"Yes." Celairis nodded and offered the letter, though her mind protested against it.

It was already late for the King had taken hold of the parchment now, unfolded it, and began reading.

The time he spent reading seemed to stretch forever, at least to Celairis. She watched his pale blue eyes move here and there. He must have read something for his eyes narrowed and his breath hitched in his throat. To keep herself from losing composure, the counsellor took a deep breath and munched on some biscuits. Its cracking noise was deafening to her with each bite. Her eyes looked at Raithon, who stood beside the King's chair, motionless. He did not round behind and read over the King's shoulder; it was disrespectful.

After a long while, Thranduil laid down the parchment and swallowed the lump in his throat.

"My King?" Celairis was the first to break the silence, almost desperate what he would do now.

Again, Thranduil drank his wine until he finished it in three large gulps. He needed some time to think and gather his thoughts. Yes, he needed to be alone and think about this thoroughly. Lórinand without a ruler, the Nandorin folk uncertain and confused, Erfaron to take her cousin's throne, and Thranduil to help her adjust—all of these were the contents of Amroth's last letter to him. His friend had bidden him farewell and good luck in this last letter of his. Without Amroth and Nimrodel, what was Thranduil to do? For well nigh two thousand years they lived in Lórinand and had always been there to help Thranduil. Now, it was the other way around.

"Thranduil?" Raithon spoke up, sounding concerned. "What happened?"

"I—" The King began, unsure what to claim. _Go to Lórinand and help? Stay here and rule? Send someone to catch up with Amroth and slap some sense in him?_ His mind was conflicted whether to go or not; if he did, he knew exactly what would be waiting for him in the forest. And he was certainly not yet prepared to face her. No, not Erynlith, and not this time.

Celairis had had enough. "King Amroth and Lady Nimrodel have left for the West," she announced boldly.

"What?" Raithon gasped. "I-Impossible! What would happen to—"

"Erfaron would take King Amroth's place," she continued, and saw the change of expression on the King's pale face. She knew at once that his good mood was gone, and now replaced into something hateful because she overstepped her boundary as Chief Counsellor... _again_.

Thranduil stood up, knocking over the chair. "Raithon, prepare for the necessary arrangements."

"Really?" The Captain of the Guards beamed at him, running to his side and grinning. "Are we _really_ going?"

"Yes." The King sighed and rubbed his temple. "Prepare everything needed and we leave as soon as we receive another letter from Lórinand."

Celairis stood up, defiantly. "But my King—what if Erfaron sails as well?"

His steps halted at once, eyes widening at the realization. Was it possible for Erynlith to accompany Amroth across the Sea? It sounded plausible, considering how close the cousins were. There was something in the back of his mind that was telling him otherwise; and, turning back to look at his counsellor, he said, "I know Erynlith. She would not leave Middle-earth."

* * *

The thundering hooves drew closer to the small campsite of the elves. No one seemed to notice at first except for Orgilion. The hooves outside sounded louder and stronger. He snatched his sword and jumped out of the tent. Dawn was not even breaking when their assailers arrived. A whole caravan of horse-riders showered them with arrows that stabbed the ground. His eyes widened at the realization; these were no orcs, but the Men that lived in those regions. More arrows flew past his shoulder. Orgilion quickly returned into the tent and grabbed Erynlith.

"It's an ambush!" He exclaimed and pulled her wrist. She was still half-asleep when Orgilion mounted her on a black horse. The Nandorin elves were roused and the marchwardens tried fighting back. He hated to admit but they stood no chance against such robust horse-riders. Not only were they outnumbered, but the enemies were well-equipped.

King Amroth and Nimrodel emerged from their tent, hands clasped together. On one hand, the King held aloft his long sword as Mithrellas pulled Nimrodel towards a nearby horse. The two maidens struggled when one rider approached them and kicked Mithrellas on the shoulder. Orgilion, who saw the whole thing, was enraged and abandoned Erynlith to rescue the maidens. When the rider tried to kick Nimrodel as well, Orgilion caught the man's foot and forced him off the horse. The man fell on the ground, moaning as his chin hit a boulder. Seeking for comfort, the maiden clutched the Chief Marchwarden's tunic and held on tight.

"You'll be fine," Orgilion softly assured her and helped her ride on his white horse.

"Orgilion!" King Amroth shouted, him and his marchwardens holding off more riders. "Get the ladies out of here!"

The hulking warden nodded and turned back to the worried Nimrodel. He stooped to whisper something to his white horse. Not long after, it bolted off into the darkness, carrying Nimrodel with it. Orgilion helped Mithrellas to get up and pulled her toward Erynlith and the black horse. He was surprised to see the minstrel now fully awake, her white bow clutched tightly in her hands. The green pennant that bore her family's heraldic device flew with the wind as she shot another arrow. Orgilion tugged onto Mithrellas's wrist again and helped her mount the waiting horse.

"Erfaron!" He called out to her. She turned and ran back towards him, silently cursing the length and heaviness of the robe.

Before she knew it, Orgilion carried her and seated her in front of the horse.

"What are you doing?!" Erynlith rasped, attempting to dismount again.

But Orgilion shook his head violently. "No! Get yourself out of here! I have sent Lady Nimrodel off into the White Mountains. You must go after her and take her to the Havens. King Amroth and I will follow." He glanced back at the ensuing chaos behind him. King Amroth and the wardens were losing t he fight. "You have to hurry!"

"Just reach the Havens, you say?"

"Yes! The Havens! Go now!" Orgilion slapped the rear of the black horse but did not wait for them to disappear. For one thing, he trusted Erynlith's intuition regarding travels; she did not spend centuries travelling with Gildor for nothing. Orgilion took up his sword again and went to the aid of the King.

The small camp was utterly destroyed by the horse-riders. As the dawn came, the riders pressed on and forced the elves to retreat from the riverside and towards the White Mountains where Nimrodel had disappeared into. Without horses, the remaining elves were strained to run for their lives, seeking refuge at the haze feet of the mountains. There, the horse-riders forsook the chase and returned to their lands, beyond the river and into the fields. King Amroth was grieved; the once many elves were now decreased. Few wardens remained alive. Orgilion tended to the injured ones, tearing a part of his white tunic and wrapping it on a bleeding wound. The handmaidens who travelled with them were all alive and were fearful of what was yet to come.

"We need to reach the Havens," Amroth whispered to Orgilion, his back facing him. "It is impossible for them to reach the Havens without difficulty. I am worried about Nimrodel. We have to move on."

"Some of the wardens need rest," Orgilion insisted. "I will not worry much about them. I have told Erfaron to watch over them. You should trust her."

"Trust?" Amroth scoffed and turned to the warrior. "For all I know, my betrothed and my cousin are somewhere in these dreadful, cold mountains… lost, alone, hungry! For all I know, there could be more of those wicked horse-riders, or even worse, a large band of orcs hiding underneath the mountains! I have seen many felled creatures in my lifetime, Orgilion, and I will not lose Nimrodel to one of them!"

Orgilion looked sternly at the former King, and Amroth quickly regretted his raising of voice. He cast his grey eyes down, settling them onto the ground.

"I am sorry," he whispered. "I allowed my disturbed mind to think about the negative. You're right; we should trust on Erynlith. She is not called Erfaron for nothing, is she?"

Suddenly, Chief Marchwarden bellowed loud laughter. "Exactly, my Lord."

* * *

Mithrellas tightened her arms around the waist of the rider. Her unsteady eyes looked around the unfamiliar mountains, each corner and boulder and crevice she tried to remember. The stony pathway was misty in the early morning; though it was late in autumn, she felt cold for the White Mountains were capped with thick blankets of snow. She silently leaned closer on the elf in front of her; the thick blue robe was warm and fuzzy. She guessed it had been some two hours now since the ambush in their camp. But her Lady Nimrodel was yet to be found. She even doubted that Erfaron was trying to search for her.

"Erfaron," Mithrellas suddenly said, savouring the taste of the name in her mouth. She had never been close to the minstrel until she was instructed to be her handmaiden for a few weeks.

"Yes?" Erynlith answered quietly, her grey eyes fixed on the road up ahead. She led her horse up towards a steep pathway. There was no doubt that they were ascending and crossing the mountain now.

"Um, are we not looking for Lady Nimrodel?" Mithrellas asked politely.

"We are following her tracks," came the quiet answer from the Sindarin elf.

Mithrellas could tell that Erfaron was not in a really good mood to talk. But she continued, "I see no tracks…"

"There _are_ tracks," Erynlith answered rather impatiently which made the other elf blink. She began gesturing on the road underneath them, pointing on some daunted soil and rolled rocks. "If you look closely over there, you can make out an image of a horse's hoof print. It trails all the way up and further into the mountain. And there are no other pathways except for this. Nimrodel may not be an adept traveller, but Orgilion's horse is."

"If we muster the horse faster, we can catch up to her," Mithrellas suggested.

Erynlith shook her head. "Yes, we can do that. But I am not familiar with this place. If we try to make a run for it, we might lose the footprints and be lost ourselves. Who knows who lives in the corners of the boulders?"

Mithrellas shrugged at that thought. It would really be dangerous to draw attention to themselves by having the horse neighing and galloping about. The White Mountains were particularly quiet, as though only the Dead live in there. She pressed closer to her companion, fearing what could be lurking behind every crevice.

A brief howling of a wolf roused them both.

"Oh, give me a break!" Erynlith groaned as she clutched her white bow. Her quiver was almost emptied from that morning's ambush, and she could not afford to lose arrows. She felt Mithrellas pressing closer to her, burying her face on the thick blue robe that smelled of rosemary.

When chance came that another wolf howled, Erynltih clicked on her heels and sent the horse running down the pathway. She could not care anymore if they lost Nimrodel's tracks; two lives needed to be saved in that very moment, and those lives were hers and Mithrellas's. The horse jumped and turned at each corner, further advancing into an unknown land. The mist had gotten thicker and thicker, but the howling did not cease behind them. The horse finally stopped to catch its breath. Erynlith smiled and patted the horse, but the chase was not yet ended. A deep cackling of creatures greeted them.

"Erfaron," Mithrellas whispered sharply behind. "You _have_ to get us out of here."

"Way ahead of you." Erynlith snatched an arrow and fired a warning shot whence the cackle came from. The two elves heard a sharp hissing and scream; the arrow had found its mark. What followed next was scampering of feet towards them.

The black horse bolted again and pressed against a long line of orcs. The orcs pulled on to the elves' dresses and robes, tore them, but did not lay a finger on them. The strength of the horse prevailed and the elves continued on to their aimless journey. Mithrellas looked back at the orcs, wishing that none would emerge from the thick fog anymore. As though her wishes were granted, no more orcs seemed to follow after them. Her grip on her companion's robes loosened and she heaved a deep sigh.

"That was close."

Erynlith smiled. "I know. You okay back there?"

"Yes!" Mithrellas eagerly nodded, finally finding the travel worthwhile.

* * *

Nimrodel did not have the words to calm the exhausted steed. The Sun had fully-risen when she dismounted it and sat beside a long river. The grey cloak that she wore was heavy, prompting her to discard it and leave it on the ground. The rushing waves of the river soothed her and brought a smile on her face. Pulling on the reins of Orgilion's white horse, she held on tightly to it and dipped her tired feet into the cool waters. She sighed in relief.

_Home_, she thought.

Indeed, she missed Lórinand so badly. To think that she would be forced to leave it because of the evil that spread in Middle-earth turned her smile into a frown. She looked at her reflection on the water; the same golden-haired Nandorin elf looked back at her. But in the reflection, the blue eyes were sad and unsatisfied. And she was. With no one else except the horse, she felt utterly lost. No Amroth. No Erfaron. No Orgilion. No one. She did not know which road to take, which corner to turn.

_Lost, very lost_, came her thoughts again.

And where would she proceed? Nimrodel knew the Havens were located somewhere in the South, but only Amroth knew exactly where. Initially, she thought the horse would take her there, but eventually, she felt rather silly to believe such a thing. Horses were mindless creatures, were they not? Though the beauty of Orgilion's horse was exceptional, it still knew nothing of her purpose.

She closed her eyes and felt the water touching her skin. It calmed her. _Lost time can never be found again_, she thought.

* * *

Amroth and Orgilion journeyed further. For countless days and nights, they wandered in silence without horses, camps, and most especially, without their three companions. Never did they stop at night to make camp; there was a lesson that was well-learned already. The elves were in complete silence; the former King's banner mired with dust and blood. They followed the course of the river for the White Mountains were known for its seven rivers. One they followed, what Amroth confirmed as Morthond, which flowed in the western part of the mountain.

"The Havens should be at the end of this river," Amroth said. He had allowed for small group to rest for the night. They made sure they were hidden behind the boulders that surrounded the feet of the Mountain, whilst Orgilion stood by on patrol. The former King sighed tiredly, his eyes filled with sincere concern. "I wonder if they had reached the Havens, Orgilion…"

At the mention of his name, the warden looked up. He, too, had been worrying about the same matter for days. If both Nimrodel and Erynlith followed the river, it should only take them a few days to reach the Havens. Arriving there would be faster for both were mounted on steeds. And he tried looking on the brighter side of things.

"Don't you think we should journey now?" Amroth asked worriedly again, looking at the pensive warden.

Finally, Orgilion shook his head and spoke, "I would advise for you to wait, King Amroth. Think of the well-being of your companions for a moment. I am sure wherever they are, all three are safe."

Deep inside, he wished his words were real.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** Some things are better to be lost.

**Author's Notes:** Hello f̶r̶o̶m̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶s̶i̶d̶e̶! How are you all doing, friends? I had a rough week but it's always good to be back here. We've got Amroth and Nimrodel travelling to the Havens in this chapter. Currently, Erynlith doesn't know about the matters of her succession to her cousin's crown—whereas the news already reached as far as Greenwood. Thranduil, Thranduil, wherefore art thou, Thranduil?

***crazykenz** \- In Tolkien's texts, Amroth did leave his kingdom for Nimrodel. She's a lucky girl, if you ask me. *sighs* But in the way I see it, book-Amroth was torn between choosing his forest and Nimrodel. In the end, however, he chose to be with her and abandoned his kingdom. LOL. Thank you! It is really hard to update using mobile. I'm not really used in typing large chunks of text on the phone, so by the time I finished typing replies for last chapters, my fingers were numb. But it was worth it! :D

***Rosiethehobbit17** \- Thranduil's kinda right, you know: somebody should go and slap some sense to Amroth's mind. OMG! Shall I say congratulations for the upcoming wedding and baby? I don't know why but I suddenly feel excited for you! The wedding doesn't have to be so grand (or are you planning for a big wedding?) Good thing it all happened after college. May I ask about the baby (shall we call him/her an "elfling", too?) (* ω)

***Zip001** \- As always, nice observation on the dream, Zip! I am not going to spoil about the Marchwarden thing. We'll get there later in the story. Thank you for understanding the Nimrodel dilemma; she has truly grown terrified of the world that she even pulls others along with her, as if to share of her burden. Also, I was surprised you remember Eryn taking charge of Greenwood during the war. It seemed so loooong ago now. I do think she would be a more lighthearted and energetic ruler than both Amroth and Thranduil combined.

***xSiriuslyPadfoot** \- Ninny Nimrodel and her antics! Amroth's decisions going to make a huge impact afterwards...

***juliacensi95** \- Welcome back, Guilia! I missed you~! It's okay that you didn't get to reply the last time; I understand because I am busy with school works, too. I've got reports and research papers to finish, yet here I am! And I am in the middle of finishing a book so school works could wait a little longer! :)

Sorry if I didn't make Eryn and Thrandy meet previously, but cousin Amroth has found a way to get them back together! Hopefully it works for both of them. Kudos to cutesy Haldir and his s̶e̶c̶r̶e̶t̶ love for food while in the King's Halls! Now with Eryn so oblivious about Amroth's orders, she would never know what is waiting for her until she gets back to Lórinand. Would there be chaos? Most likely...

Thank you for the lengthy review! You know I always love reading long comments. Good luck in school and hope the professors would consider giving us students a break! I can't wait to start the holiday vacation already. Have a great day, Guilia~!

***Lovitall** \- Wow! Three days! I salute you! Thank you so much for taking time to read! I'm glad you appreciate the characters' interactions and how their relationships with each other turn out, whether it is good or bad. Awww, now I think of little baby Legolas with Daddy Thrandy. That'd be so cute! Oh and thank you very much for the birthday greeting!

***Lord Illyren** \- Plot twist indeed, m'lord. Eryn's going to flip out. LOL.

***Gremalow** \- Thank you! The mobile feature of this site is very helpful, but I think I'd rather stick with updating through the computer. ;)

***Janssen** \- Thrandy and Eryn together's gonna make Glorfy pretty sad... Now I just have to stop crying over our favourite warrior...

***Elentar** \- Queen of the Forest, you say? Eryn won't like it, but Thrandy's going to be thrilled for sure!

***Omorfi Enas** \- I hope you're finding the weekly updates good, my friend. Thank you for the review!

***Overlord Rousdower** \- Sshhh, my Dark Lord. Do not be scared, here's a teddy bear to help cast your fears away...


	55. Lost and Found

**Chapter 55**

_**Lost and Found**_

* * *

Mithrellas was reluctant to release her grip on her companion's robes. Here they were in the White Mountains still, cloaked in the mist and darkness. Earlier, they had found a small cave to settle in for the night. They had no any means of getting warm, and Mithrellas's dress was torn, letting it hang scandalously about her thighs. Erynlith's blue robes were the same, muddy and torn from the earlier assault of the orcs. Their insufficient stock of food and weapons were almost driving Mithrellas to the edge.

"Erfaron," she whispered in the uncomfortable darkness, grip tightening on the sleeve of the robe. "Are you there?"

Erynlith rolled her eyes and forced herself not to sigh exasperatedly. She had been asked the same question every five minutes, and Mithrellas's paranoia was not helping at all. She almost sounded like Nimrodel, only that she did not speak rapidly in the Silvan dialect. Like Mithrellas, Erynlith was tired, hungry, cold, and frightened. She tried to pry the hand away from her sleeve, feeling rather irritated now. The darkness was unnerving and she felt vulnerable. Wearing nothing but the oversized robe and had less arrows, it would only be a matter of time until she and Mithrellas faced the _real_ problem.

"We'll be fine," she answered for the umpteenth time. "We'll stay here for the night and continue heading south in the morning. Just wish it is not cold and misty, and no orcs and wolves."

Mithrellas nodded dutifully, not exactly convinced. She began to curl on the ground; countless days and night made her unable to sleep. She still reached out to touch the robes that pooled on the ground; the black horse they shared neighing softly at the back of the cave. Soon after, the Silvan maiden finally fell to sleep.

Erynlith watched over the peaceful face of her companion. She knew that after this, Mithrellas would surely leave Middle-earth. There was nothing but despair and problems for the elves here.

_Leave Middle-earth, hm?_ She closed her eyes and briefly considered on leaving as well. Like Orgilion, she was tired of warfare and would like to settle in a peaceful place. But if she left now, it would mean leaving Erestor behind in Rivendell. Her eyes snapped open at that. _No, I will never leave Erestor behind._

Something stirred in the darkness. Erynlith cautiously exited the cave, looking around the oblivion. She clutched her white bow and strapped the almost empty quiver about her waist. Nothing moved next. She returned to the cave and roused Mithrellas, shaking violently on the Silvan's shoulders and waist.

"Wake up!" Erynlith sharply whispered. As the Silvan moaned and sleepily sat up, Erynlith grabbed the reins of her horse and pulled it outside. She grabbed Mithrellas next and pushed her to mount on the horse.

"Erfaron!" Mithrellas was startled, her eyes looking fearful now. "What is going on? What is it?!"

"Listen carefully. Hear the river? Follow it. It will lead to the Sea, hopefully near the Havens. You have to leave and ride as fast as you can. Do not look back, keep on riding." Erynlith gave her friend a small smile and slapped on the rear of the horse, watching as Mithrellas looked back to her and disappeared into the mists. Now alone, Erynlith gulped and turned behind.

Drawing her bow and arrow, she fired another warning shot and heard sharp hissings behind the cluster of boulders. In her attempt to run, she tore off the long robes and left the hem hanging about her thighs. She began to run on the opposite position from where Mithrellas had gone.

_Stupid, utterly stupid!_ Erynlith reprimanded herself as she ran barefoot on the rocky pathway. She took several turns and jumped from boulder to boulder, gashing her feet in the process, but she kept on running as unfamiliar growls followed after her. Looking back, she caught glimpse of short, dark men, running in groups. Her breath hitched up in her throat and her pace quickened. Never did she see anything like these creatures.

An arrow suddenly grazed her shoulder, no doubt an attempt to stall her. She grasped her bleeding wound and continued running until she no longer knew where she was. Whatever those creatures were, they had given up on the chase and left. It was night already when Erynlith stopped and collapsed like an undignified elf on the ground, moaning and drifting off into reverie.

She was cold and alone, but in her dreams, the silver-haired Marchwarden returned.

* * *

The wandering elves finally sighed in relief for the first time in weeks. Following their encounter from the wicked horse-riders, they followed the river Morthond and beheld the Elven-Havens. The towers gleamed silver under the sunlight, banners of blue and grey billowing on the large domed roofs. The caravan from Lórinand almost broke into a run to get there faster. A small group of Sindarin elves emerged from the ports and welcomed their kin. Greetings in their native tongue were shared; Amroth knew these elves personally; he and his father Amdír had housed them in their forest for a long time before they retired to the South.

"A King!" One of the Sindar exclaimed, disbelieving that the simple-robed elf was a King of Lórinand. The elf patted Amroth's shoulder and smiled widely. "You are most welcome, Amroth! Tell me, is this all you have gathered? A small group of Silvan and a—" He stopped short upon seeing Orgilion's hulking stature, broad shoulder and thick arms.

Amroth drew the attention back to him. "My Chief Marchwarden, Orgilion," he said cordially. His grey eyes looked around the havens. "Did someone arrive here some few days ago?"

The elf shook his head. "Not one. Why?"

"They are not here?" Amroth's voice sounded disheartened. He gave Orgilion a sad look. "Not even one of them? What about a golden-haired lady? Pale and mounted on a white horse?"

"Nothing, really," the elf confirmed.

The shipbuilders welcomed the newly-arrived elves and led them to the small cottage that was settled near the shores. The roof was made of dried leaves while the walls and pillars were of thin woods. Everything was wooden within the cottage and there were not a single candle that was lit. Some Sindarin minstrels, no doubt wives of the mariners, smiled and offered Amroth and Orgilion seats within the cottage. A warm tea and healthy food were offered to the wandering elves; all profusely ate and drank, not one morsel was spared. In the afternoon, the mariners offered the newcomers some fresh clothes in place of their tattered ones.

Orgilion emerged from the cottage with a new and clean white tunic and trousers. His brown hair was braided back neatly, and he looked completely refreshed. The dark circles under his eyes were gone now. He approached the King Amroth, a sword he strapped about his waist. The King gave the warden a thoughtful look, noticing the sword and the two long knives strapped behind the waist. The warden had also equipped himself of gauntlets, but no other armoury.

"I need a horse," Orgilion whispered to Amroth. He could hear the cries of the gulls and the waves of the Sea nearby. White sails loomed behind the small cottage of the elves where the port was. It was still summer and the winds were howling strongly.

Amroth sighed and nodded. Both elves approached one of the Sindarin mariners, a dark-haired and blue-eyed fellow; his robes were of worn out green and gold, a silver brooch clasped about his throat. He was probably the friendliest elf from the bunch, and Orgilion felt guilty for not even knowing his name. He watched Amroth spoke to the elf in native Sindarin; and the elf laughed good-naturedly and eagerly led them in the stables. There were few horses as expected; the elves here were neither travellers nor hunters. The elf pulled out a bay horse from the stables and held the reins out for Orgilion.

"Sirdal," the elf said, patting the muzzle of the horse. Orgilion reached out and caressed the horse. It neighed and trotted, rubbing its long muzzle on the warden's shoulder. "She likes you," the elf continued.

"She?" Orgilion sounded ecstatic at the information. All his previous horses, including the white which he had lent Nimrodel, were all stallions. He paused and then asked: "I'm sorry, but you're name is…?"

The Sindarin elf chuckled. "Aerchon," he said, shaking on the warden's broad hand. "The name is Aerchon."

"Orgilion," he answered, shaking on the hand that was offered to him. He began to mount the bay horse and muster it outside. King Amroth was waiting outside and looked up at the warden, his eyes pleading him.

"Please, bring back Nimrodel."

Orgilion wanted to argue. Not only did Amroth sound so demanding, but also sounded like he cared not for the well-being of both Erynlith and Mithrellas. The King asked to return his beloved, but not his cousin and his friend. How selfish could that be? Instead of arguing, Orgilion only glared down at the Sinda. Amroth flinched at the cold look that he received; silently pondering what could have provoked the warden. At length, he himself could not think of an answer.

"Be safe now," Amroth whispered, still wondering what he could have missed.

Orgilion openly rolled his eyes and began to leave, whispering, "I wish you would take time to remember a family member, my King."

* * *

The horse she mounted finally halted. As a tree-dweller, Mithrellas had little to none experience in handling horses, especially those special ones that simply did not stop until it broke a bone. The horse neighed in pain and dropped itself on the floor, its head hanging low. Mithrellas knelt and tried soothing her steed, but it was to no avail. Without food and water for days, the poor horse finally succumbed to death. Her hand brushed the dark mane, feeling sorry for the steed that saved her life. But she had to move on.

"Where am I?" Mithrellas looked around. She could tell no difference between the pathways she took, the caves she passed. There were no rivers like Erfaron had instructed her. It was dark already, and she needed a place to stay for the night. Reluctantly, she left the lifeless horse and boldly ventured forward. Her pale golden hair was dishevelled and tangled; the green dress she wore tattered, making her feel more uncomfortable. Her light shoes were almost worn out from the sharpness of the rocks and the endless walking.

When night came, her chance arrived. Lurking in the darkness, she saw a light not from afar. Shadows moved gracefully on the mountain wall, sounds of talking and laughing could be heard. Her face brightened at that thought: she was not alone. She knew these strangers were not orcs for those foul creatures did not have fair voices. These strangers sounded more like Men. Mithrellas ducked behind a boulder and poked her head out. Great was her relief to see a group of Men. There were few of them, some seven or eight; she could not tell. They were sharing bread and wine around the fire; their horses sleeping on the other corner. And what was she to do? A lost Silvan elf with no means to defend and escape; these strangers were her only hope.

Mustering all her courage, she moved to stand up but someone had grabbed her from her nape. She was manhandled effortlessly, the heavy hand on her nape pulling her away from her hiding place. She screamed and struggled, trying to get the hand off from her. Not long after, more men gathered around her. Looks of wonder and surprise were present.

"Let me go!" Mithrellas further struggled from the man that caught her. She kicked her legs about and dug her nails onto the flesh. The man behind her let out a cry and released her. She fell on the ground in a loud thud, her cheek hitting the ground hard. A wince escaped her dry lips as she propelled herself backwards and away from the men. Her back was pressed against the mountain wall, some of the men closing in on her. Her heart raced at the sight. Acting on her instinct, she helplessly threw a rock at them.

And the Men laughed just as she feared.

One walked up to her, him who grabbed her from behind. Mithrellas glared at him but spoke no word. The whispers and snickering ceased when a powerful voice halted his companions. The elf looked up hopefully to her saviour; and a man with dark hair and eyes knelt in front of her. He was tall and muscular, equipped with silver armour and blue cape. On his breastplate was a stamped sigil of a White Tree and seven stars.

"Are you alright, my Lady?" The newcomer asked her, his voice gently inquiring. He held out his calloused hand to her, a friendly attempt to get her up from her sitting position on the ground. Her shaky hand clasped the man's hand and she allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. Thus, the man smiled and continued: "Are you lost? Do you have companions somewhere?"

Mithrellas bit her lip. She still could not trust these strangers. If she told them about her companions, they could scout the area hunting for them. She still worried about Erfaron, on how they were separated since that morning. Her hand slipped from the hand of the man. "I am well," was all her answer.

"Good," the man answered and smiled again. He placed his hand above his heart in greeting and said, "I am Prince Imrazôr of Belfalas."

"Prince," Mithrellas murmured, disbelieving what she had heard. If he was Prince somewhere, then these Men should be harmless. She looked around at the small camp; the men who previously laughed at her were now passive and went back to their talking around the fire. Returning her gaze back on the young Prince, she remembered her grace and manners as a Silvan elf.

Quickly, she bowed and replied, "I am Mithrellas, my Lord. I am in your debt for saving me tonight."

Somehow, she regretted saying those words.

There crept a sly smile on the Prince's fair face. He took Mithrellas's hand and kissed it, his eyes still locked on hers. Then, he unclasped his blue robe and draped it around the shivering elf, aware of her situation and the length of her dress. As a gentleman, he was against about the idea that ladies should show much of their skin. Imrazôr led his prize back to his tent and asked his stewards to bring them food. Mithrellas sat in amidst of pillows and blankets, of armours and maps. A young steward opened the flap of the tent and handed her a hot bowl of soup. She whispered her thanks and began spending herself on the food.

"Do you have companions, Lady Mithrellas?" Prince Imrazôr asked as he watched her eat the soup, a soft smile curling up in his lips.

She shook her head. "I do, my Lord. I travelled with a small group of Silvan elves from Lórinand. We are bound towards the Southern Havens where our ship waits to take us across the Sea. I was separated from the main group, along with my companion who, I am afraid, might still be lost in these dreadful mountains."

"That's terrible," Imrazôr remarked. "It must have been so hard for you to wander alone. Worry not about your companion; I could send a few men in search for her."

"Really?" Mithrellas beamed happily.

The Prince chuckled at her smiling face. "I promise, my Lady. What is the name of your companion?"

"Erfaron," came her answer. "She is slender and umber-haired, wearing a long blue robe. You should be careful in approaching her; she strikes anyone who comes near."

"I will tell my men." With that, Imrazôr exited the tent and gave a few words to his companions. They had travelled in the White Mountains back and forth already; there was nothing that could surprise them except a cautious elf. "You have to find her," the Prince reprimanded his men, now mounted on their horses. "Remember, be gentle with her. She could be hurt. Bring her back as soon as you can."

The warriors nodded and left.

Behind Imrazôr, Mithrellas was eavesdropping. She sank back into the blankets and wrapped the cloak closer to her. Her body ached all over but her hunger and thirst were gone. She felt the lightness of her head, her eyelids becoming heavy with sleep. Finally, she gave in and went into another sleep, with a Númenórean Prince watching over her.

* * *

Erynlith stirred from her slumber. The Marchwarden from her dreams was gone again. Her eyes slowly fluttered open, her mind trying to register what had become to her. She lay on her stomach, cheeks bruised from whatever hardship she had recently overcome. She moaned at the pain on her shoulder and the growing pain in her right wrist. She tried to move, but her legs felt numb. Her hands tried to grasp her white bow and the collect the scattered arrows on the ground. At her slightest movement, she inhaled sharply and winced again.

For the next few hours she lay there helplessly, until something roused her.

A shadow was moving towards her. The soft neighs of a horse were unmistakable. She strained herself to look up and wait for what was to come. Her grip on the bow tightened despite not having any arrows. The figure moved slowly, like an apparition in the middle of a misty twilight. Erynlith could make out something golden from the figure, a golden elf approaching her. The robes were white and almost glittering, one slender hand pulling on black reins.

As it continued towards her, her vision faltered: instead, Erynlith could see a golden-haired lady sitting on the riverbanks, her legs dipped in the cool waters; a white horse stood faithfully beside her, and the elf-maiden was speaking in her native tongue.

She was lulling back to sleep when a gentle hand was pressed against her back. Her unsteady eyes caught glimpse of a brown hair and white tunic. She was carried gently onto a bay horse, and the rider balanced her in front. Her back was pressed against a broad and warm chest.

"…Nim-Nimrodel?"

The rider shook his head gently. "No, Erfaron. It's Orgilion."

* * *

*Aerchon - Sea Commander

**Next Chapter:** What becomes of Amroth and Nimrodel.

**Author's Notes:** Hmm, I am not sure how to put this, but I am having some technical difficulties for the past few days in . I cannot see reviews unless I check them by email, and the number of views remain at zero. Am I the only one experiencing this? I'm fidgeting here at home like a kid. LOL. Anyways, we get back in the White Mountains with some of the lost elves. Amroth has reached the Havens, Mithrellas is found by a Prince, and now Orgilion rescues Erynlith. It would only be a matter of time, fellas...

Before I forget, advanced happy holidays to everyone!

***Rosiethehobbit17** \- Nah, Nimrodel could be the damsel in distress all the time!

Seriously?! Twins?! OMG I am so happy for you! Well, I don't know you in real life, but if I did, I'd give you a massive hug right now! Are they girls or boys? My friend and I used to joke around that if one of us had boy twins, we'd call them "Elladan and Elrohir". LOL. And a wedding somewhere in those countries? Damn, I envy you so much now! I truly would want to see Italy or Spain or Greece! Too many places to go, but less time and money. Also, I like the idea of passing down wedding dresses; it sounds so familial, but of course you should tinker it here and there ;) Sorry for the rambling, I just got very excited. Once again, congratulations and I hope you have a very good holidays!

P.S. You asked me about the names? Sure! I can help you with Sindarin and Quenya names if you like. ;)

***Janssen** \- Now, now, my dear. We know that Celairis gets nervous whenever Thrandy shows the slightest interest about Eryn, so we cannot blame her. And Thrandy being dedicated? I think he is. He remains quite familiar with her over the years.

***Drasna** \- Thank you! Well, Galadriel did say once, "_Even the smallest person can change the course of the future_". In this case, it's the little things Eryn does for everyone. :)

***Lord Illyren** \- Nimrodel lost is probably the next greatest thing ever since Sauron was defeated two thousand years ago. LOL. Thrandy's going to be back in the show, and he'll do it fabulously!

***Omorfi Enas** \- I think I should have made Nimrodel lost sooner. But it's better when she's all alone in an unknown place. It adds to her being afraid. Thanks for the review! We'll keep Nimrodel lost, you'll see.

***Saura9**\- Ooh, do you mean the succession to the throne? Yes, Eryn remains in the dark about it. Amroth's not really good with decision-making.

***Gremalor**\- Amidst all the chaos and being lost, there is still hope in Thranduil. Hooray for the fabulous King!


	56. Weather the Storm

**Chapter 56**

_**Weather the Storm**_

* * *

For many a day and night, the elves took turns on watching and dressing Erynlith's wound. Every morning, Aerchon and his wife would serve breakfast for Amroth and his companions. After breakfast, Orgilion would travel back towards the White Mountains in search for Nimrodel and Mithrellas. At sundown, he would return empty-handed. Orgilion knew King Amroth was getting impatient; at some days, the two of them would scout the rivers and caves, finding not a single trace of the lost maidens. And Erynlith slept for days; the wound on her shoulder slowly healing.

Aerchon and the rest of the Sindarin elves were pressing their deadline. Summer was passing and autumn would be there soon. They could no longer wait for Nimrodel; they thought it was impossible for a single maiden to remain alive after all these months.

"Please, just _please_ wait for another more days," Amroth pleaded to Aerchon, almost falling onto his knees and beg, a gesture unfit for an Elvenking of Lórinand. "Please listen. Nimrodel is out there somewhere, and she is travelling to get here. Please reconsider your deadline. The coming of autumn is not a bad thing, is it?"

"But we have been waiting for weeks," Aerchon said in his defence. "My companions and I have built this ship for us. We cannot wait any longer."

"I love Nimrodel," Amroth pleaded again, tears threatened to fall from his glistening grey eyes. "Please, please… I cannot live this world without her, but I cannot stay here in Middle-earth as well. You see, I promised her a land of peace, and that is where I will take her. She promised to marry me when that happens, so please, _please_, bear with me."

Aerchon gave his companions an apologetic look and sighed. "Fine, Lord Amroth. I am giving you another few weeks. You know we cannot abandon this departure just for _one_ lost maiden. You will have to work harder on finding her."

Almost every night, that was the conversation that fell between the pressured Sindarin elves. Amroth would return in the cottage, disheartened and lonely. He would sit himself on the corner of the room, bury his face in his palm, and cry himself to sleep. Orgilion watched the King of Lórinand succumbed to his grief every single night while he watched over the sleeping Erynlith. Her wounds healed faster in Orgilion's care. And this particular night, she woke up to find her cousin and only family member alive, miserable with grief.

"No signs of Nimrodel?" Erynlith whispered over to Orgilion. She sat up from her bed and glanced at her cousin.

The warden shook his head in dismay. "Not one, not even a trace of Mithrellas as well. It has been months, Erfaron. Summer will be over soon and I am afraid Aerchon will set sail once autumn arrives."

She frowned. "How could there be no signs of them at all? You are a warden, Orgilion! Surely you can trace two lost maidens."

"I cannot do everything, Erfaron," he snapped at her, a rare occasion for him to lose his composure. He sighed and looked at her apologetically. "Look, I am trying my best. I have scoured each of the seven rivers, checked every cave and crevice imaginable to stay in; Nimrodel is lost, I know, but she is still out there somewhere."

"Then we find her in the morning," Erynlith concluded.

"No, you will have to stay here." His voice was commanding. He gently pushed her back towards the bed and tucked the grey blanket under her chin, acting like a father. "I will return to the White Mountains tomorrow, see if I can find something different. How do you feel?"

"Terrible for Amroth."

He shook his head. "No, I meant yourself. How do you feel?"

She shrugged. "I feel fine."

"Your right arm..." He hesitated, his face contorted into one of worry. "I saw the wound... I did not mean to..."

"It's all right." She pulled the sleeve over her right wrist, hoping that it would cover the wound she had acquired two thousand years ago. It never healed, that poisoned wound that came from an orc-arrow, which had pierced her flesh and left her writhing and unconscious in Greenwood. Beneath her sleeve the skin was grey and dry, the flesh hard and hurting. She smiled in reassurance. "Compared to Amroth's pain this is nothing."

In the morning that followed, Orgilion left the Havens again to continue on his search. This time, the remaining Silvan marchwardens accompanied him, leaving Amroth and Erynlith behind. The King sighed heavily and leaned on the stone railway that overlooked the Sea. He watched as the waves moved to and fro, delivering some leaves and weeds onto the shores. Not far from where he stood was the grey Elven-ship made by Aerchon and his companions, ready to set sail anytime. Erynlith leaned against the railway as well, her grey cloak draped all over her. The winds were howling strongly for these past few days, and the skies were dim. She silently watched as Aerchon loaded the ship with his and his wife's belongings; the beds and chairs from the cottage were being carried off.

"Are you going to sail with us?" Amroth finally broke the silence, eyes still focused on the Sea up ahead.

Erynlith shook her head. "No, I am not. I still have Erestor waiting for me back in Rivendell." She smiled at the thought of seeing him again. For all she knew, he could be so worried about her. "I cannot leave these shores without him," she continued.

The former King nodded. "I see. So after all these years, you will still choose the Chief Counsellor over your family member. This is just like the time when Father and I came to Rivendell to fetch you, but instead, you latched yourself to Erestor's trousers and never let go. Do you love him more than your cousin?"

There was great grief in his voice that Erynlith could not place.

"Of course not," came her answer. "I love everyone equally. This is just one of those times when you have to make a choice. You have chosen yours, Amroth: to sail and marry Nimrodel upon reaching the West. Mine is to continue living here and care for everyone. I really cannot leave Erestor behind."

"I am jealous," he admitted sadly. "You have gotten everyone looking after you. In turn, you also look after them." He turned and gave her a weak smile.

"I will stay with them for as long as I could." She placed her hand over his and smiled. "Nimrodel will come. I know she will. All you have to do is wait."

"I am trying. Every day when Orgilion returns without her, I feel a part of me dying inside." He held her hand tighter. "I am glad you are here to comfort me, Eryn. It should be a matter of time now until we are sundered."

She suddenly felt sombre. But she smiled and stayed strong for him. "I will get there, you'll see."

Once again, Orgilion returned that day without news of Nimrodel and Mithrellas. He felt remorseful for not bringing any better news. He isolated himself from all else whilst King Amroth went into his corner in the cottage and wept again. There was no stopping the Sindarin elves from leaving now. The cottage was completely empty. Aerchon and his wife had moved into the ship and waited for Amroth to board it. Summer had passed so quickly that Amroth felt numb from all his weeping.

At Erynlith's urging, he lifted his head and boarded the ship at last.

"Here," she told him quietly, holding out the green pennant.

Amroth took it and examined the small gift given to him. It was the same green pendant that King Amdír, his father, brought with him from the West. There was still the heraldic devise of their family, a tree circled by silver stars. The name Cúthalion was forever etched on the edge of the pennant, bearing the name of Erynlith's paternal forefather.

"To remember me by," Erynlith continued, smiling sadly at him. "I will miss you so much, Amroth."

He held back his tears. "I will miss everything about you."

Sparing one last embrace to each other, the two remaining family members parted for a while until chance came and Erynlith should pass into the West as well.

* * *

The Númenórean Prince and his caravan returned in the fast hold of Belfalas in the far south of the White Mountains. They had followed the course of the river to exit the mountains, and their Silvan companion stayed with them for weeks. Mithrellas knew not where they were going until she beheld the white towers of the Prince. Banners of blue and silver were ripped off by the strong surge of the winds, the thunder rolling at a distance. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion; she thought these men would take her to the Havens.

Sensing her discomfort, Prince Imrazór smiled softly and welcomed her to his home.

"Welcome to Belfalas, my dearest Mithrellas."

* * *

Orgilion prepared the cottage for the long night. The strength of the winds threatened to destroy the cottage in one go. He had closed the doors of the horses' stables and locked the door of the cottage. There on the floor, Erynlith sat cross-legged, feeling the weight of the upcoming storm. The warden crossed the room and sat beside her.

"Forgive me for the sudden change of mind," Orgilion began, "but I must stay with the King." His calloused hand brushed a stray lock of her umber hair. "Forgive me if I have to leave you behind, Erfaron."

"Do not worry about me." Erynlith smiled and rested her head against his chest. "Watch over Amroth for me. I would be very grateful."

"I promise." Orgilion kissed her forehead, out of respect for her. "Be careful on your journey back."

"I can find my way." With a heavy heart, she watched him leave the cottage.

At the dock, Aerchon and the other elves lifted the sails of their white ship. The waves were already too strong and the ship was uncontrollably rocking back and forth. Amroth clutched the wooden ledge of the ship, his feet unsteady like the waves. Thunder cracked in the heavens; terrified screams of his elf companions rang from within the ship. Fearless, he looked up at the grey skies, the rain descending from the heavens.

For long he was soaked underneath the heavy storm and looked at the White Mountains. Orgilion was mounting the ship and talking to the Sindarin mariners. Amroth gritted his teeth, cursing the fate that separated him from Nimrodel. As he was about to forsake the ship and head off back to shore, Aerchon grasped him by the shoulder.

"No!" Aerchon cried, pulling the former King inside the ship instead. "It is dangerous to leave now! Stay inside and wait for the storm to pass! In the morning, I will help you find your Lady."

Hope filled Amroth's face and he agreed to stay within. His marchwardens led him to a small cabin to rest into, a wooden room filled with nothing but a single bed. There, he lay himself and felt the waves rocking and lulling him to sleep, the green pennant of his cousin clutched tightly above his heart.

Back in the cottage, Erynlith was huddled on one corner, trying to survive the wickedness of the storm. The poor roof of the cottage was almost ripped off, including the walls and pillars of the place. She buried her face in her hands, afraid and alone. As the wind forced the windows opened, the rain drenched her but she dared not to move. The creaking of the White Ship outside was loud and terrible, the neighing of the horses sounded behind the cottage.

* * *

The rocking of the ship that had lulled him to sleep last night woke him up.

Amroth jerked up from the bed, grey eyes darting unsteadily in the unfamiliar room. Still gripping the green pennant in his right fist, he broke into a run from the cabin towards the deck of the ship. Sun was rising when he lifted his chin and looked around. Aerchon and the other elves were hauling the ropes and working on the oars. Amroth quickly ran back to the stern and gasped. The shore of Belfalas was looming away from him, little by little. At the distance, he could see the figure of Erynlith emerging from the destroyed cottage and watching the White Ship leave.

Panic rose within Amroth. The accursed ship was leaving Middle-earth without Nimrodel at his side! He glanced back at Aerchon and his marchwardens, his mind already set on one thing. The blue eyes of Aerchon widened as though reading the Elvenking's mind.

"Amroth, no!"

Orgilion dashed forward the grab him.

But it was too late.

Amroth had leapt from the stern and plunged himself into the cold waters of the Sea. He gasped and stretched out his arms, a last desperate attempt to return to shore. He beheld Erynlith not so far away, who called out name again and again. He choked on the seawaters, losing his balance in the waves. His curled right fist was raised, holding aloft the green pennant that was there. He heard his name cried out again; Erynlith was rushing towards the shore to save him.

But with half-closed eyes, Amroth could see her struggling to get to him. She cried out to her him, hot tears brimming from her eyes. But Amroth still had strength within him. He dove forward again, arms flailing wildly. The Sea roared again and washed him further, not nearer, from the shores. He felt the air leaving his system, and his eyes were ever locked on Erynlith's.

"Erynlith!" Amroth cried to his best, his tears mingling with the seawaters. "Erynlith! Nimrodel! Find Nimrodel!" Here, the waves washed over his face and he gasped his breath one last time, his fair voice crying, "Nimrodel!"

Then, the golden head of the King was swallowed by the Sea.

The White Ship of Aerchon and his companions was long gone when Amroth drowned to his death. No more cries of the Elvenking were heard from either shore, Aman or in Arda. The marchwardens of the Lórinand King bowed their heads low; this was news King Amdír would not want to hear in Aman.

Orgilion loosened his grip on the ledge and bowed his head. The Elvenking he had served for more almost two thousand years was gone now. He failed to protect him, like he promised last night; it grieved him to be the only one left to travel. He sighed and joined the wardens in the center of the ship, mourning for the loss of their King.

At the shore, Erynlith collapsed on her knees and desperately called out her cousin's name, her voice broken form her sobs. The waves lapped at her bare feet, buried underneath the soft sands. The roaring Sea was finally calm. The remaining elf in Edhellond knelt in silence at the southern shores. The tears on Erynlith's cheeks had finally dried. There was no longer a ship on the horizon, and certainly no Amroth anymore. She closed her eyes and let that fact sink in her being; the loss of the remaining family member was too much for her.

Opening her eyes, she looked down at the cloth caught between her feet. She picked up and opened the crumpled cloth. It was the same green pennant she had given Amroth. The grey rope was still fastened on two ends. She held it close to her heart, sobbing once again.

At least Cúthalion was still there with her.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** The gathering of the clouds (a.k.a the important key-players of the story)

**Author's Notes:** A sad ending for our beloved King Amroth in such a happy time of the year. You will be missed, Amroth, no matter how blinded you are for your love for Nimrodel. Your love and devotion for her meant sacrificing Lórinand, your cousin and eventually your life. Sad, very sad. Professor Tolkien made your story a heartbreaking one.

Still, I want to greet everyone a Merry Christmas! I hope everyone is having good time with their family and friends, with lots of food and gifts, too!

***Lord Illyren** \- Oops! Sorry if I wasn't clear last chapter. Nimrodel remains stuck in the river which she found, while Mithrellas was found by the Men and as in this chapter, she is taken by the Prince to Belfalas, at the southernmost part of Gondor.

***xSiriuslyPadfoot** \- Yes, I love the Númenóreans, too! In fact, I am interested in the Haradrim and Easterlings as well but Tolkien gave us little glimpses about them. Though I am not very familiar with Hobbits, I freaking love the Elves! Amroth and Nimrodel, no matter how much of a spoiled child Nimrodel is, their story is quite tragic. I blame Tolkien for giving me feels about his elves!

***Janssen** \- Mithrellas being found by Men would be a better deal than getting lost into the mountains even more. LOL. She has more chances of survival than in the wild.

***Gremalor** \- Yes, I think Amroth is like that: he worries so much about Nimrodel that he forgets about his cousin. It's supposed to be "Cousins before girlfriends", but I guess that doesn't apply to him at all.

***Omorfi Enas** \- I'll make a mental note to have Celairis have a disappearing act! XD


	57. The Gathering of the Clouds

**Chapter 57**

_**The Gathering of the Clouds**_

* * *

"It's you and I, my friend, just you and I."

Erynlith patted the muzzle of the last remaining horse in Edhellond; she had freed the others that the mariners left behind, allowing them to run free into the fields and mountains. With the cottage and stables destroyed from the storm last night, she had little food and less water for the journey back home. But that was alright, wasn't it? As long as she was alive and well, everything should turn out for the better. That was what she wanted to believe. She fastened the green pennant around the lower limb of her white bow and spared another glance on the faithless Sea that had ensnared the life of Amroth.

She shook her head and mustered her horse away from the roaring waters. Edhellond disappeared from behind, the memories staying alongside it. Whatever the storm yesterday had caused would remain in those lands forever.

In the next few years, perhaps the Men that lived in Belfalas would hear the tale of the Elvenking Amroth who loved the maiden Nimrodel, cast himself to the Sea in hopes of reuniting with her. Such was the thing love can do to a person. Not even the noblest and one of the last Sindarin kings could endure it.

But not very far away from Edhellond was the white tower of a Númenórean Prince who had found his love and took her back with him. Mithrellas of Lórinand was there, waiting and watching the Seas from her window, wondering what was it that she heard crying the name of her Lady Nimrodel.

Erynlith followed the river once again, plunging into the oblivion of the White Mountains. But she had learned her lesson in those parts; she crossed it successfully with little to no problems along the way. She passed the wide fields of Calenardhon that would be renamed as Rohan in the next years. Fangorn Forest she passed as well and Lórinand returned to her sights after months of travelling. Erynlith was troubled what to tell Haldir and the other Silvan elves of their King's fate, and so, during her travel, she occupied herself with a song.

"_Of old he was an Elven-king,_

_A lord of tree and glen,_

_When golden were the boughs in spring_

_In fair Lórinand."_

* * *

From the extensive parts of the White Mountains, Nimrodel woke from her deep slumber. She looked around the unfamiliar place. Hearing the current of the river Gilrain next to her, she smiled and remembered where she was. The mountains were still so difficult for her to read. The white horse of Orgilion remained behind her; it was weak and thin, but still breathing and trotting. Nimrodel whispered soothing words to the beast and mounted it. Finally, she returned to her journey and followed the river.

She beheld Edhellond after a few days. Great was her dismay to find no one there; not one elf remained, no ship to bear her across the Sea, and most importantly, no Amroth to greet her. Nimrodel wept for a long time on the shores, not knowing that else to do now. And there on the shores as well, the faithful horse laid itself on the sand and died. It had completed its master's task, to bring Nimrodel safely to the Havens. She had no words for her next plan; her eyes were locked on the beautiful horizon before her, the waves of the Sea comforting her.

Little did she know, her beloved Amroth was claimed and was long gone at the bottom of the Sea.

Nimrodel heard the music of the waves, and she fancied that she could hear a familiar voice singing, mingled with the voice of the water. The voice was so painfully familiar that it brought tears to her eyes again. She collapsed on her knees and wept, listening to the elegy that was thereafter sang in Rivendell and Greenwood.

* * *

"Make way, and make it quick!"

Haldir, Orophin and Rúmil were running across the golden forest, when one of the scouts reported Erfaron's arrival. Every elf in Lórinand was alert and gathered around the grassy courtyard in front of the fortress of the previous Elvenking. Haldir pushed those elves that blocked his way and continued pushing until he was in the middle of the courtyard, and saw the umber-haired minstrel dismounting her horse.

"My Lady," Haldir breathed and approached her.

Erynlith turned to him, her face stained with sweat and mud. She smiled in exhaustion. It was a relief to see someone so familiar after months of travelling and holding back her grief. While alone she plunged herself into deep mourning for her cousin, but now, finally at home in Lórinand, she was thankful to see Haldir and his brothers. The marchwarden brothers rushed forward and immediately assisted her. Orophin took her horse to the stables, Rúmil shouted for warm food and new clothes, while Haldir assessed her tired face.

"Please tell me I'm home..." Her voice quivered, and she couldn't see him through the tears that formed in her eyes.

The young warden tried not to panic. "You are home, my Lady. Everything will be fine," he promised.

She began to sob and tears slid down her flushed cheeks. "Please… Call me Erfaron."

Haldir blinked and looked at the grief-stricken elf who now collapsed into his arms. Her head rested against his broad shoulder, her face buried in his robes, as she drowned herself to weeping. Acting on impulse, he wrapped his arms around her, ignoring the other elves who were watching.

"You are home now, Erfaron," Haldir soothed her again. "You are safe here with us. What do you want me to do? You only have to command me. You are Queen now."

She broke away from his embrace and looked at him incredulously. "No…" she begged, more tears flowing. "No… no, please, Haldir…"

"Erfaron, please. Let me help you." He gave her a desperate look, his brow furrowed and his hands trembling. Without King Amroth, the wardens were confused. "Tell me, tell me what would help you. Let us help."

"Glorfindel," Erynlith answered at once, surprising even herself. She had not thought of her golden-haired friend for months, and speaking his name sounded strange to her. She could have sent for Lord Elrond or her brother, but it was the warrior whom she first remembered. "Please go to Rivendell and fetch him for me. Please, please I need him now more than ever."

"Would you be fine while I am gone?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, I just don't know what to feel anymore…"

Rúmil returned with a clean dress and towels. He caught the minstrel before she collapsed in exhaustion. "I've got her, Brother. You go now and we'll take care of things."

"Very well. Keep her fed and safe. I would come back as soon." Haldir spared one last glance at the sobbing elf, and left the forest at once.

* * *

It was all over Greenwood—the news of Erynlith's return to Lórinand. The Elven-guard's outpost near the river was bustling with commotion, the guards talking to one another with obvious excitement. Raithon had confirmed the rumors before running back into the underground palace, passing through several unsuspecting elves, to deliver the news to the counsellors. Celairis was first to find out, and when she did, she told the Captain of the Guards to return to the outpost and keep on guarding. She assured him that the King would hear the news from her.

_Erfaron in Lórinand. About a few days ride_. Celairis knew where this would lead, and did not want to see Thranduil sprinting off to the neighboring forest just to visit. Her heart sank deeper and deeper at the thought of it.

She arrived at the bedchambers of the King and knocked three times. She paused and knocked again, receiving no answer. Curious, she twisted the knob and let herself in. Sunlight came streaming across the room, the elaborate tapestries dominating the walls. A large white bed was located in the middle, cold and untouched. There were no signs of the King anywhere; he must have left his room and gone to the library or infirmary.

As she was about to leave, Celairis's eyes went down to the mahogany desk and approached. There was a single parchment, an unfinished sketch of what looked like a dark-haired elf in a garden. For a moment she foolishly thought the elf was her, until she saw the harp in the elf's arms and the bow and quiver near her bare feet.

"What are you doing here?"

Gasping, she whirled around, and saw the Elvenking coming out of the bathing chambers. His long hair was still dripping wet, and he wore nothing but white breeches. Celairis tried not to stare at the well-toned chest and muscular arms, but failed to do so.

"You like what you are seeing?" Thranduil smirked as he crossed the room and went to the wardrobe. He pulled out a thin undershirt and continued wiping his hair with a towel.

"Forgive me for the intrusion, my Lord." She averted her eyes and focused it on the bed.

He leaned against the frame of the window, his handsome face illuminated by the early morning light. He continued rubbing the towel against his head. "You look ashen. Did something happen?"

Would she tell him? Would it be considered wise? However, even if she did lie to the King, Thranduil would still hear it from the other counsellors and guards. If he needed to know, it had to come from _her_. Better her than anyone else. She bit her lip and finally gave in.

"Yes, something happened in Lórinand."

"What?" He went to her and held her shoulders firmly. "Tell me."

Celairis looked up and saw his desperate eyes. She knew that when Thranduil found out, he would burst out that door and leave her there, with nothing but her broken heart. It had been two thousand years since the King began courting her, flirting and teasing all the same; and she thought it was all real. She thought he was sincere and truly loved her—loved her strongly enough to propose marriage and make her his Queen. He had given her gifts before, so she thought it would end up to that. But she was only a foolish little Silvan elf who dreamed too high and fell.

"Erfaron has returned to Lórinand."

She closed her eyes as tears streamed down her face. The firm hold on her shoulders was suddenly gone and she heard the quick steps leaving the room. When she opened her eyes, Thranduil was long gone.

* * *

It had taken three days worth of ride to reach the valley, and Haldir prided himself for finding it. But this was not the time to gloat about the accomplishment. He was escorted by some of the scouts from the borders and was led here, in the domain of Elrond Half-elven.

Once in the courtyard, Haldir was surprised to be flocked around by countless of elves. Many unfamiliar faces showed up and asked him where Erfaron was. He was earnestly awestruck; elves in Lórinand were secluded and wary. Here in Rivendell, they welcomed guests openly.

Before he could answer the questions, a tall golden-haired elf arrived and gently pushed the others and Haldir was finally able to breathe again. He watched in amazement on how everyone seemed to respect the warrior and obey him almost immediately. If he had not known better, Haldir would have mistaken this elf as the Lord of Rivendell. Then, coming out of the main house, a dark-haired elf in green robes emerged to greet him.

"Welcome to Rivendell," the elf-lord said. "Come. It must have been a tiring journey. I am Elrond. What is your name?"

"Haldir, my Lord." He refused to follow inside the house, standing firmly from where he was. "I am looking for someone called Glorfindel?"

Elrond glanced at the golden elf. Behind him, Celebrían and Erestor arrived.

"I am Glorfindel." The warrior stepped forward to greet him, and his face looked kindly at the young warden. "Is everything all right in Lórinand? Where is Eryn?"

The dark-haired Chief Counsellor went down the staircase and stood beside Glorfindel. His face was painted with so many emotions that Haldir could not place. "Why didn't you return with her? Is she hurt?"

"Um, I was asked to fetch Lord Glorfindel and take him back to Lórinand," Haldir answered, a little hesitant. These elves were new and all strange to him. Then he remembered who he was, a proud warden of the forest, thus he lifted his chin and met the counsellor's fierce dark eyes. "Queen's orders."

"What?" Erestor snapped, not exactly bemused of the terse answer.

Everyone looked so confused now. Lord Elrond stepped forward and led Haldir inside where they could talk. He was introduced to Elladan and Elrohir, to Gildor and Lindir. Lady Celebrían embraced him gently and introduced Arwen, who smiled and welcomed him into the Halls of Fire. Once inside, Haldir was overwhelmed with their hospitality and kindness, especially Lord Elrond who offered him food and drinks and a fresh set of clothes. When he asked about what happened in Lórinand, Haldir explained everything that he knew—from King Amroth and Nimrodel's departure and to the King's strict orders on who should succeed as ruler of the forest.

Once the tale was over, everyone blanched.

"You are joking. Please tell me that you are," Erestor pleaded breathlessly. He slumped back against the cushion of his chair and rubbed his temple. "This is impossible. Eryn cannot be the next ruler."

"It was King Amroth's last will," Haldir argued, cold blue-grey eyes challenging the glare of Erestor's.

Sensing that Erestor would not back down from a fight, especially if it involved Erynlith, Elrond silenced his counsellor with a flick of his wrist and turned to his captain. "I am sending you to Lórinand, Lord Glorfindel," he said, noticing the triumphant smile on Haldir's face. "She needs you beside her now."

Glorfindel stood up and went for the doorway. "Don't worry. I would see what I can do."

Erestor raced after him and took hold of his sleeve. His expression looked distraught. "Bring her back home please. As soon as you can, Glorfindel."

"We'll see." The warrior patted the counsellor's shoulder and left.

Taking that as his cue, Haldir thanked Elrond and his family, and dashed off to follow after the golden elf.

* * *

*_Song of Nimrodel_ \- J.R.R. Tolkien

**Next Chapter:** Guess who's _finally_ going to be in Lórinand. *wink*

**Author's Notes:** Happy New Year, my friends! It has been an eventful 2015 for me! I sincerely thank everyone who has been with me for the whole year! As we face another year, let us strive for greatness as a daughter/son, a friend, a student, and most important, as an individual! Let nothing stop you from doing what you want! Hooray for all of us!

As for this chapter, forgive me for not being so creative with the title. I still haven't gotten over the new year so I reused a title from _The Hobbit._ We have Eryn here succumbing to grief after the loss of beloved cousin Amroth, and also for failing to find and rescue Nimrodel and Mithrellas. Well, at least Mithrellas is in good hands of the Prince, but Nimrodel? Forever alone, my friend.

***Asmodeus Black** \- Oh, I've missed you! I hope you're having a wonderful new year! Thank you very much for taking time to review even if you're busy. I hope you enjoyed this one as much as the others :)

***Lord Illyren** \- Amroth and Nimrodel will be forever remembered through a song. What Eryn's going to do? Ha! I do think it involves a certain Elvenking now. For sure! XD

***Saura9** \- Yes, she's alone... but not for long Glorfindel to the rescue! And perhaps someone else...

***Drasna** \- Keep calm, my friend, keep your calm. LOL

***Elentar** \- Sometimes love can make people do stupid decisions. XD Let's all cheer for Thranduil!

***Omorfi Enas** \- You're right: no matter what happens, through thick and thin, she has Erestor. Only this time she doesn't seek his comfort, but someone else's.

**P.S. Again, thank you all! Please review and tell me what you think. I'm getting paranoid over the new year. XD**


	58. At Long Last

**Chapter 58**

_**At Long Last**_

* * *

The gleam of sunlight made Thranduil blink for a moment. He lifted his hand to cover his eyes, while the other loosely held the reins of his horse. In his haste to leave Greenwood, he had only worn the white undershirt and a pair of black breeches. He had no jewels or crown, no rings and no outer silk robe to identify himself as King. Truth be told, he looked like someone who had just come out of the shower and decided to visit the neighbouring forest.

Raithon rode beside him, the grin on his face still there. "You know we can make the horses run, right? Why on earth are we keeping this slow pace? Are you not excited to see her?"

_I am_. The words were caught up in his throat. He swallowed the lump again and breathed in and out. "I am excited to see her," he claimed, relieved that the words fell smoothly from his lips. "But I am worried."

"Worried? What for?"

"Maybe she doesn't want to see me." Thranduil gazed down and patted his horse. "Maybe she has so many problems at hand that she has no time to meet me."

"Oh, stop worrying, you old poop!" Raithon placed his arm around his friend's shoulder, and dreamily looked into the distance. There was nothing but the Great River and the beige fields. "Just imagine her in the forest, looking so pretty and quiet. Then, she turns to see you and smiles. Isn't that something?"

Thranduil laughed and elbowed his friend. "Shut up. If she runs away from me, I am blaming you."

"And why would she run away?" Raithon poked Thranduil's cheek and his hand was slapped away. He laughed. "I mean, she's your lady. After all these years, she is still yours, right?"

"No, I do not think so." His mood changed easily. "It has been thousands of years. She has this so-called reborn elf from the West. Who knows who else could be courting her in Rivendell or Lórinand?"

"But do you _want_ her? That is the question."

"Want sounds like a powerful word, doesn't it? It sounds like a fleeting feeling. I am in no position to say that I want her, since I haven't seen her for years and I doubt the feeling is still there." Thranduil sighed and urged his horse faster. "More like, I just want to get to Lórinand and see what I could do to help."

Raithon nodded and snapped at the reins. "I suppose you're right. You can court her _much_ later."

Thranduil made a face. "You're not quite helping. Who else is in Lórinand now?"

"As we speak, perhaps the marchwardens."

"And that reborn elf?"

"Do you mean Lord Glorfindel?" Raithon smirked.

"I don't know," Thranduil retorted, sarcastic. "Is there anyone else reborn from the West?"

"You can take that sarcastic tone with me, but to the wardens and Lord Glorfindel, I am sure you cannot," the captain warned.

A day after too much riding, the two Sindarin elves from Greenwood beheld the golden forest. It was evening now, and the road up ahead wounded on. The horses bolted and off they went, getting closer and closer to the northern borders. Golden lights dappled the trees where the lanterns hung; long, silver staircases were around each tree and platforms were set above. A dark-haired scout emerged from the darkness, cloaked in grey and carried a bow and horn. He looked up at the two riders and spoke hastily in Silvan.

It was Raithon who replied in the same native tongue of the Silvan folk. He announced that they were elves from Greenwood and were there on business.

Reluctantly, the scout shook his head no. "I received no orders to admit strangers," he told them.

"No orders?" Raithon looked at Thranduil, who only shrugged. "Well, what orders were given to you?"

"I have none," the poor scout admitted, fidgeting. "There are no orders—none whatsoever. If you leave our borders now, the marchwardens would not have to take you away. They have been apprehensive since the Lady returned from the Havens and—"

"Lady?" Thranduil whirled his horse up front, almost running over the scout. "What Lady?"

The young scout gulped. "Truly, I am not supposed to—"

"Hey!" Another marchwarden from the darkness called out. He grabbed his weapons and jogged towards the small company, his blue-grey eyes looking up at the two Sindarin elves. He sneered. "Who are you and what do you want? You have arrived in our borders. If you have no business here, I suggest you be gone quickly. These parts are not safe."

"You do not seem to recognize either of us," Raithon mused. "I am Raithon, Captain of the Guards. My companion here is Thranduil, son of Oropher, and King of the Woodland Realm. It would be kind if you let us in the forest."

Orophin did a double take and bowed low. "My Lord Thranduil," he murmured. "Forgive us for the delay."

"No worries." The King began to lead his horse towards the entrance of the forest. Behind him, Raithon, Orophin and the young scout followed. "Tell me what has happened here lately."

The northernmost outpost came into view and some of the wardens gathered around to watch. It was built there to observe the movements in the Misty Mountains, particularly the paved road that led to Mirrormere and Moria.

"King Amroth and Lady Nimrodel have left for the Havens. Right now, the kingdom is under the Lady's command." Orophin saw that more and more wardens were arriving, among them was his younger brother Rúmil. He nodded to his brother and watched him sprint off. Then he looked at the Elvenking again. "So far, we have not received orders from her, not one bit—nothing to patrol the forest, or to watch over the palace. Nothing."

"Do you have a Chief Marchwarden?" Thranduil dismounted his horse, as did Raithon.

"Not any longer," Orophin told him. "Orgilion was one of the elves to sail for the West."

"A pity." Thranduil knew Orgilion long before King Amdír and King Oropher died on the battlefield. Whenever he stood close to the warden, he felt small and helpless. Despite the hulking stature and boisterous laughter that Orgilion was known for, he was kind, gentle and was like a father to the young wardens.

"What are you to do without a Chief Marchwarden?" Raithon said.

Orophin shrugged. "I do not know. Normally, my brother Haldir would take care of things unattended in the barracks and outpost."

"Haldir?" Thranduil remembered his guest a few months back. "Where has he gone to?"

"To Rivendell. He has been gone for days. So far it is the only order we received from the Lady."

"Where is she now?"

"In the field behind the palace." Orophin led the way further inside the golden forest until they reached the courtyard. He pointed to the narrow pathway that led to the rivershore behind. "She has been mourning for five days straight," he said to Thranduil and Raithon, as a frown formed on his lips. "She has refused to eat anything we give her, or to get some rest. She allowed no one to come near her. She has not even changed her clothes since she arrived from the Havens. We don't know what else to do."

"Must have been so hard for her," Raithon whispered.

_The weight of the crown too heavy for her to bear_. Thranduil understood that. When his father died, he had also been reluctant to take the crown and was adamant that Greenwood and Lórinand come together as one Woodland realm.

With a sharp intake of breath, he gathered his courage and went off.

He would talk to her now. Yes, after almost two thousand years of avoiding her, he was now taking one step at a time to see her again. His heart was hammering inside his chest, and his palms were beginning to sweat. His throat was dry and he tried to lick his lips because he suddenly felt so hot. When was the last time he felt so nervous about making an appearance? Not once in Greenwood. When was the last time he was unsure of himself? Before he became the King. Now, he could not even describe in words how tensed he felt as the river came into view.

As he rounded behind the palace, what he saw first was the narrow swift-running river that coursed. It was like a blue-green ribbon that shone under the pale moonlight and golden lanterns which hung on the tree branches. He saw orange lights from the fireflies looked like embers drifting in the wind, and heard the faint howling of the wind. In the middle of the small field, seated on the rivershore, was a lonely figure. It was hunched there, unmoving like a statue, but it let out a hoarse little cry and sniff.

Thranduil held his breath as he took one step, and then another. When a twig snapped under his boot, he flinched at the deafening sound, his blood running cold.

Then the figure slowly turned around.

Erynlith could not make out who was approaching her. She curled her fist and pawed at her damp eyes, wiping the accursed tears away. Her vision became slightly better: someone tall and slender was walking towards her, quiet as a shadow. She could not place his pale golden hair and hopeful blue eyes, and supposed it was either Orophin or Rúmil; the brothers had relentlessly tried to help her, but she had declined them. She regretted pushing them away, because she wanted to be alone with her thoughts. Now that they were coming to her, she wanted to apologize.

His breath hitched again when she stood up, staggering at first, and then regained balance. His eyes immediately searched for her face; it was flushed and her lips were curled into a small frown. He took one step again, mindless of the swarm of fireflies around him. Another step. Another. And another. He stopped when he reached the edge of the shore, now standing only a few inches from her.

"Eryn...?"

She must have been hearing things. No one in Lórinand called her by name. Only Amroth, and Amroth was down in the Sea. Her beloved cousin was gone: gone and out there in the bottom of the Sea. Her tears threatened to fall again. She pawed at her eyes once more, desperate now, seeing white stars form amidst the darkness. Whoever that person was grabbed her fist and gently pulled it away from her eyes. She blinked, trying to regain her vision.

"Eryn."

_The voice_. Yes, it sounded familiar. _But the face_. Yes, she could see now. Someone with long fair hair and soft eyes was talking to her. And his voice, she remembered that voice. She was a minstrel and remembering music was almost second nature to her.

Thranduil touched her cheek and lifted her chin so that her teary grey eyes looked into his blue ones.

"Do you...remember me?

She looked up to him and was quiet for a moment. She thought it was just her imagination playing things on her, but when she felt his hand touching her cheek and brush away a strand of her hair, it all looked _real_ now. She took time studying his face, the handsome face that smirked at her ages ago. She could not believe her eyes.

"I know your face," Erynlith whispered breathlessly, "Thranduil."

"Yes." Tears brimmed from his eyes and he could not stop himself from embracing her. His arms wrapped around her smaller frame, his chin rested on her forehead.

She broke apart from the embrace, and gave him a confused look. "_What_ are you doing here? _Why_ are you here now?"

His brows furrowed. "What do you mean? I came here because I wanted to see you, and Amroth—"

A sudden commotion in the courtyard stopped them both. Someone's horse was trotting and neighing, one of the marchwardens was shouting orders in Silvan, and the Nandorin folk whispering amongst each other. Then, Orophin emerged from the corner of the palace, talking to an elf taller than he was. The newly-arrived elf raced towards them, his blue cape billowing in the cold evening air. His golden hair went past his shoulders, his strong arms and powerful build shouted that this elf was a warrior, and not just any random warrior.

"Glorfindel!" Erynlith immediately called and went to him, forgetting that someone else was with her.

Upon hearing his name, Glorfindel smiled and admitted her into his warm embrace. He lifted her face with both hands and kissed her forehead.

Feeling rejected, Thranduil growled as the scene unfolded before him.

"I heard what happened," Glorfindel said and continued to look at her face and arms. Then, he embraced her again. "I should never have let you leave. I should have come with you and protected you. I am so sorry, Eryn."

Erynlith smiled against the soft fabric of his silver robe. She closed her eyes and sighed. "Everything is perfect now."

"Let me take you back into your chambers." Glorfindel took her hand and led her out of the field. "I heard you have not eaten or showered yet..."

Their voices faltered into the darkness. All that was left was the rushing of the river and the buzzing of the fireflies. Thranduil bit the corner of his mouth until it bled, and wiped it off with his sleeve. Frustration and anger welled up inside him; the feeling was too great that he could punch someone who approached him. Balling his fists and gritting his teeth, the King punched at the nearest tree and kicked hard at the grass. Bits of leaves and soil were flung onto the river.

He had never thought, in his thousands years of existence, that being second best was too painful to bear.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** Glorfindel Thranduil, Glorfindel Thranduil, or Glorfindel ≠ Thranduil? You decide!

**Author's Notes:** Yes, you read that right! Thranduil's back in the game! *throws confetti all around*

***Overlord Rousdower** \- Hiya, m'lord! Thranduil's good with drama for sure. And Glorfy? He needs to watch out! MUA HA HA HA!

***Lovitall** \- Thank you! I am so glad you enjoy the story! First meeting after thousands of years can be quite awkward. Thrandy needs to work hard to get past Glorfy, but we'll see!

***bettsam0731** \- I hope it's about now, and that Thrandy doesn't pull the "Because it was real" line. XD

***Omorfi Enas** \- So far, Thrandy's not impressed with Glorfy. LOL.

***Drasna** \- The hype is real in you, my friend!

***Gremalor** \- Oh, yes. You noticed that, huh? Apparently she's too sad to singsong in the last chapter and in this one. Let's see if someone can make her sing in the next ;)

***Shiro Chan** \- Thank you so much! I'm not really good with comedic scenes but I'm very happy you like them! There's going to be more Thranduil and Glorfindel conflict in the next few chapters, so I hope you'll stick around :) And don't worry! We all need a bit of drama in our lives.

***Lord Illyren** \- You're right about the conflict about someone named Eryn! LOL. It might turn out in an easy way or the hard way... Knowing Thrandy, it could be the hard way. XD

***Saura9** \- Feels, my friend. You are having feels. So yay Glorfy? Or Thrandy?

***Anita** **Mackiewics** \- So glad you like Erestor's character! Come to think of it, we haven't seen our favourite big brother for quite some time. I'll keep in mind to write him in. Thank you for the support!

***Carastein** \- Woah, from the beginning? That's wonderful! Thank you so much! I can see you're in Eryn/Glorfindel team. *evil smile* Nah, just kidding! :)


	59. Wildest Dream

**Chapter 59**

_**Wildest Dream**_

* * *

"_Welcome to the Forest, penneth."_

Erynlith fluttered her eyes open, searching for the marchwarden. In her dreams, she was back in the forest with its blue-throated nightingales and rivers. The silver-haired marchwarden was waiting for her, as he kept himself occupied by playing a harp. His white bow was near his feet, with a green pennant fastened on the lower limb.

She felt the heat radiating inside her room. She sat up and saw the familiar bedside table, wardrobe and round window on her left. Across the room, Glorfindel moved into the sunlight and sat on the edge of her bed. He touched her cheek and kissed her forehead, and then her hand.

"Good morning," he said.

Her eyes blinked to adjust from the blinding light. "Good morning," she murmured.

"Feeling better?" He reached out for the table and took a hairbrush. He began brushing the umber hair and softly untangled the knots.

"No." She hugged her knees and buried her head on her arms, and began to sob.

Glorfindel's heart ached to see her weeping so. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down to the bed with him, shifting her carefully so that Erynlith was on top, and her damp cheeks pressed against his chest. His hand stroked her hair soothingly.

"It's all right to cry, Eryn. You can cry, but please do not give up."

She sniffled and wiped her tears. "I am not supposed to drag you into my grief."

"No." He sat up, as Erynlith slid down to straddle his lap. He stared long at her face; her grey eyes were teary and red, her hair thick and cascading down to her hips. The sunlight was illuminating her sad face in a soft, golden glow. He felt intoxicatingly drawn to her.

Staring at her full lips, Glorfindel began to lean in. Erynlith's breath hitched in her throat, and she closed her eyes and pulled away from him, her fists curling tightly on the warrior's broad shoulders. Glorfindel blinked and immediately pulled away. Only then did Erynlith breathe again.

He cleared his throat. "Well this is awkward."

She burst out laughing. "Not quite."

"Aha! Now there's my guiding light!" He beamed and grinned childishly at her.

Then she smiled and cupped his cheek. "I thank you for everything you're doing for me, Glorfindel." She leaned in to kiss his forehead.

"Are you ready to get up?" His hands settled lightly on her hips, indicating that she was still straddling him.

"Uh-huh." She yawned and tried to process what was happening. She tried to push the memory of Amroth's passing to the farthest part of her mind, and tried to focus on what happened last night. Something important happened, but she could not remember exactly what. Then, there was something in the back of her mind that showed a tall figure with blue eyes and soft hands that touched her face.

"Hungry?" Between Glorfindel's lips was a blue ribbon, while his hands deftly worked in braiding her hair.

"Definitely." Smiling, she leaned closer to him and whispered. "I had a strange dream last night."

Glorfindel smiled back and took the ribbon from his lips, now tying it around her braided hair. "What dream?"

"Very strange, really. I saw a marchwarden in the forest, and he seems to be familiar with me. I do not know him, but he has my bow and pennant with him." She looked into his eyes and knew he was thinking about something else. "Other than the silver-haired warden, I saw someone else in my dreams."

He dropped his hands to his lap and admired the half-up hairstyle. "Who else did you dream of?"

She brushed a lock away from her face, and leaned closer to whisper in his ear. Her voice remained low. "Thranduil."

"The King?" Glorfindel's brows furrowed, his dark blue eyes flashing in disapproval.

"Yes, him." Erynlith raked her fingers through his long golden tresses, and smiled sadly. "But it is only a dream. I have more things to think about, not him. I feel so conflicted, Glorfindel. I was only trying to help Amroth and now—" She bit her lip. "And now everything becomes so difficult. I don't want to rule Lórinand. I just want to go back home to Rivendell. Please take me home."

"Oh, Eryn." He watched helplessly as his friend curled up and hugged her knees again. He scooted closer and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "I promise that everything will turn out just fine. I'll be here to help. I may not know how exactly to rule a forest, but I have known five High Kings throughout my long life. At least I could be of help, one way or another."

She lifted her face and frowned. "Will you really stay here and help me?"

"You know I would." Glorfindel smiled and kissed her cheek. "Now then, breakfast?"

"Let's go then."

Clutching her skirt, Erynlith plodded down the staircase with Glorfindel at her heels. He caught her hand and she let out a shriek, breathless in her laughter. He lifted and spun her around, and then settled her back on her feet. They crossed the courtyard and went towards the banquet halls located in another golden tree, above the flet.

"You know, one of the High Kings I knew often told me that a good ruler should not start a day with an empty stomach." Glorfindel tugged at her hand and led her up to the platform, where various attendants were already waiting for them.

Upon seeing the golden-haired warrior and the minstrel in her white dress, the attendants stopped preparing the table, lined up and bowed. "Good morning, Your Ladyship," all said formally to Erynlith.

She shifted uncomfortably and looked at her friend, who nodded to her. "Ah, um, good morning, everyone."

"What you would like to have your breakfast, my Lady?"

"Something light, I suppose." Erynlith was guided to take the seat at the head of the long table—Amroth's usual place. More and more attendants streamed in and laid out delicious foods in front of her. When everything was done, she noticed her friend still standing by the entrance. "Glorfindel, what are you doing all the way there? Come and sit with me," she said, patting the chair next to her.

Glorfindel shook his head. "I am not supposed to intrude on the Queen's breakfast."

Her eyes narrowed at him. "Sit beside me now or you'll eat with a broken arm."

"Fine, fine." He chuckled and held up his hands in surrender. Once he was already seated, the attendants moved to bring the meal in front of him, consisting of a hot soup and a plate of honey-cake and some _lembas_. He observed the alertness of the Nandorin elves and whispered to Erynlith, "You have to get used to being pampered."

"I don't think I will ever get used to it."

* * *

Up in the flet provided by Orophin to the King of Greenwood, Thranduil and Raithon were spending the early morning contemplating on their next plan. The dark-haired Sindarin captain was flopped on the King's large bed, using his dagger to slice thin parts of the apple and eating them. On the other hand, the blond elf was pacing back and forth, nibbling on his nail and muttering incoherent words under his breath.

"You know..." Raithon began, waving his dagger around, "nothing will happen if you keep on pacing here and there. You are only making me dizzy, and I hope you're getting dizzy, too."

Thranduil rounded towards him, glaring. "I just don't know what else to do! It seems she has forgotten about me!"

"Well, she must be resting right now. Give her a break. King Amroth drowned and Lady Nimrodel lost, and now, all the elves in Lórinand have come to acknowledge her as the new ruler of the forest. Everything fell upon her shoulders all of a sudden. If you bother her now and present yourself like the arrogant elf that you are, she's not going to appreciate it. You'll just set her mood off like you always did before."

"Shut it." Thranduil rolled his eyes and crossed the room. He scoured through the few formal robes and trousers that he brought. He groaned. "I can't believe I only have few options on how to dress for today."

Raithon laughed. "Well, don't blame me. I am not the one who bolted out of the room and demanded that we go to Lórinand as soon as possible. I didn't get to say goodbye to Santien properly."

"What am I going to wear now? I cannot appear to her looking like this!" He gestured at his white undershirt and black breeches. His pale golden hair was still in tangles from his uneasy sleep last night.

"You are not going to impress her through your dashing good looks, are you?" the captain teased, slicing a portion of his apple and eating it. He waved the dagger again. "You are not going to win her back that way."

"I am not trying to win her back!" Thranduil snapped and dropped his voice. "Not yet, at least. I just don't want to fade into the background like last night. I am a King; I should be treated as such. I am _the_ King and I will not let some reborn elf from the West who cannot event handle his petty nightmares outshine me."

"You may be an Elvenking, but Erfaron is the Queen here now. Everyone's priority is her well-being and carrying out her commands. You and I are just visitors from a neighbouring forest. We are last in her concerns."

Thranduil pouted. "What do you suggest I should do?"

"Be gentle with her," Raithon answered. "Keep your temper off the bay and speak pleasantly to her. Remember that she remains dazed and uncertain after everything that happened, so make sure to keep your calm and don't call out on her mistakes."

"Since when did you become an expert?" Thranduil smirked at his friend.

"I am not an expert. It just so happens that you are hopeless in these kinds of things. No wonder you cannot get that many ladies before."

"Fine. You're the expert, I'm the novice. What else can I learn from your wisdom?"

Raithon laughed again. "Well, just don't ever raise your voice at her. Keep in mind that Lord Glorfindel is always around and he will not take it kindly if you mistreat her. He will not hesitate to whittle you down, that's for sure. Watch out for the marchwardens, too. They are very protective of her."

"Since when did you become so familiar with the wardens here?"

"Oh, come on, Thranduil." Raithon scoffed, a little haughtily. "I do not even have to strain my eyes to see. Have you seen the looks on those wardens had when we first arrived? Obviously, if they had mistaken us for foreigners, they would have shot us dead in the dark. No questions asked. That's how strict and anxious they are now; without proper orders, the chain of command would be broken. With Erfaron the only one left to rule, and we both know how children revere their childhood hero, they would do anything she says—except she doesn't give orders." He grinned.

"Great, I am the King and I should worry about that stupid warrior and some young marchwardens."

"Stop thinking that you are King, Thranduil. It will not work here. This is not Greenwood, remember? Basically, you have no power here and no one would think twice about your concerns, unless Erfaron commands it."

"We haven't even been invited to breakfast yet. Does she even know we are here?"

"Maybe." Raithon shrugged. "Perhaps you should prepare yourself now and we can go to the banquet halls."

"I bet that warrior's there with her," Thranduil grumbled.

"What, you're jealous now?"

"I never said I was!" A robe flew across the room and hit Raithon on the face. Then Thranduil turned back to stare at his reflection in the mirror as he combed his fingers through his hair. "Truth be told I cannot see anything so special about him. So what if he was reborn?"

Raithon sat up from the bed, waving the dagger flippantly. "Were you not paying attention about the reports? He was allowed to be re-embodied and return to Middle-earth because of his great deeds that saved Gondolin and its people. If it was not for him, Lord Elrond would not even be with us. History would be different. You should not speak so ill of him since you barely know him. In fact, you do not know what it is like to burn."

"Do I not?!" Thranduil rasped, one hand caressing his left cheek. Once upon a time it had been burned by dragon-fire, a horrendous burn that was saved only because of Elrond's expertise, and years of healing.

"Forgive me," Raithon muttered under his breath. "I did not wish to offend you."

* * *

An hour later, when the two Sindarin elves arrived in the banquet halls, there were no signs of Erynlith. The long table was empty and the halls itself was almost deserted, except for the single attendant who stayed to clear the last bits on the floor. She bowed to the newcomers but said nothing, as though she was not inclined to serve the King of Greenwood and his Captain of the Guards. She was about to leave through the staircase when the blond elf rounded towards her, scowling.

"Where is she? The Lady, I mean."

"She has gone down to the river with Lord Glorfindel," the attendant timidly answered. She bowed and left, cradling her materials with her.

Raithon saw the glower on his friend's face. "I warned you Lord Glorfindel doesn't take his eyes off her."

"Yes, Raithon, I am aware of that." Thranduil inhaled sharply. _What now?_

They stayed up there for quite some time, until the sullen King finally thought of something. He smoothed his blue-grey silk robe and adjusted the collar, and then grabbed his captain by the shoulder and raced down the staircase. Thranduil led them around the forest, wandering without certainty which river the attendant was referring to; Lórinand had two intersecting rivers coursing through the middle, while the Great River, Anduin, was located south.

When they found one of the scouts, Raithon asked him.

"Oh, Erfaron—ah, Her Ladyship," Rúmil corrected himself, as he remembered that he and his brothers (or any of the marchwardens for that matter) were not allowed to call her Erfaron any longer. He pointed towards the direction of Nimrodel's previous house. "She and Lord Glorfindel are in the river."

"Thank you." With that, the two Sindarin elves dashed off.

Upon reaching the rivershore, Thranduil and Raithon paused. Not too far away from them were Erynlith and Glorfindel, sitting underneath a large tree. The warrior was sitting in front of the minstrel, who was playing around with the golden hair and seemingly trying to braid it. Something must have been said because the minstrel laughed and pushed the warrior's shoulder, who, in his turn, laughed louder. Thranduil felt the same feeling of rejection and frustration from last night, unconsciously curling his fist.

"Go ahead and talk to her," Raithon whispered in his ear and winked. "I'll handle Lord Glorfindel."

"What?"

"Just get in there." The captain pushed him towards them. "And go get her."

Thranduil meandered towards them, his mind racking what to tell her and what to do if ever the golden elf came in between them. His hands were cold again, his heart caught in his throat; and when he tried to swallow, it only left him breathless. He stopped a few steps beside the tree, and cleared his throat.

It was Glorfindel who reacted first. At once the warrior was on his feet, whose large build covered the minstrel on the grassy floor. He walked towards the King, and Thranduil did not like the fact that—other than the warrior's broader shoulder and thicker arms—Glorfindel stood a few inches taller than him.

"My Lord," Glorfindel addressed him.

Thranduil ignored him. He passed through the warrior, brushing him off quite arrogantly, and stepped into the view where Erynlith could see him from head to toe. He did not smile at her; only kept his face nonchalant and his voice neutral.

"Eryn," he whispered.

Erynlith stood unsteadily, and found balance when her hand rested on the tree trunk. Her eyes stung as hot tears threatened to fall. She looked at Glorfindel and then to Thranduil, looking confused and utterly lost. Was her mind playing tricks again? Her breathing became laboured and her heart felt like bursting out. When the imposing King walked to her, it felt as though she could not breathe anymore. She only stood there, frozen in disbelief.

As the King reached out for her face, she turned her heels and ran away.

"Eryn!" Thranduil called after her but felt a strong grip on his wrist. He saw Glorfindel and scowled. "Let go," he snarled.

"She is not in the condition to meet you," Glorfindel said as politely as he could, though he wanted to run off and chase after her.

"You have no right to stop me!" Thranduil snapped, removed the hand on his wrist and sprinted into the other direction.

Raithon immediately went in and placed his arm around the warrior's shoulders. "Lord Glorfindel, I think it would be wise to let them be for a while."

Glorfindel hesitated. His eyes followed where Erynlith and Thranduil disappeared to, and felt the urge to run after them. However, Raithon was already leading him away from the scene and Glorfindel knew he had to step back this time.

* * *

By the time Erynlith stopped running, she was back in the field behind the palace, where she had cried last night. She bent over to catch her breath, and was suddenly aware that someone followed her there. She dared not to look over her shoulder and see his face; instead, she rubbed her eyes again and again, refusing to admit that her tears were coming out.

"Eryn," Thranduil panted. "Please don't run away from me again."

She flinched at his soft voice. She could not remember the last time she heard him talk to her.

"Why did you run away? Don't you want to see me?"

She buried her face in her hands and shook her head.

"I came here to see you. Eryn, look at me."

Thranduil turned her around and saw that she was crying again. He felt conflicted and did not know what to do. What did normal elves do if maidens cried in front of them? Celairis never cried to him; Santien never cried before (_perhaps she was incapable of crying_, he thought); and he had never comforted a maiden while she cried. He cursed himself and felt utterly helpless; he wished Raithon was there to tell him what to do.

"Dream," Erynlith told him, backing away a little. "You're just a dream."

"No." It came immediately from his mouth. "No, I am not a dream, Eryn. I am here now; I am here for you... Do you remember me?"

She bowed her head, ashamed to be seen in such a state. "You are not supposed to be here," she muttered.

It had almost been two thousand years, yet it still hurt when she refused him. He swallowed the lump in his throat. "We need to talk."

She sniffled but did not move from her spot.

His voice became softer. "You need to look at me."

Erynlith looked at him straight in the eyes. His collected presence was suffocating her. Anger coursed through her veins; she wanted to scream, to pound him, to rant on how she waited years for them to be together again. She felt her heart beating frantically in her chest, threatening to fall and break on the ground; and she imagined herself kneeling and gathering what pieces of her heart she could still save from the overwhelming pain. Tears welled up and fell for the umpteenth time since their reunion.

"Do you remember me?" Thranduil placed his hand on her cheek, and felt that she flinched at his touch. He was pleased that she did not back away from him.

The close proximity was intoxicating to her, but what surprised her more was the fact that she did not draw herself away from him. Instead, she felt _more_ drawn to him, as though all those years of waiting were nothing. It seemed her anger and disappointment in him was gone in a flash; all her negative feelings towards him seemed to turn into something more positive, now that he was here.

She kept her eyes focused on his jaw line, her hands uncomfortably hanging on her sides, and her breath hitching in her throat. When Thranduil moved closer to whisper something in her ear, she closed her eyes tightly, suddenly afraid. She could feel his warm breath on her skin.

"Eryn, do you remember who I am?" His whisper sent shivers down her spine.

Still afraid, she bit her lower lip and nodded.

"Look at me." He raked his fingers through her umber hair and saw the blue ribbon fastened around it. He leaned back to look at her face. "If you remember, who am I?"

Her grey eyes finally opened and looked at him for a few seconds, as though she was discerning who he was. At length, she smiled.

"I remember. You are Thranduil."

Her voice whispering his name had always been music to his ears.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** Restart of Eryn/Thrandy romance? But what about Glorfindel?

**Author's Notes:** *sports commentator voice* What team?! Thranduil or Glorfindel? Based from the previous and this chapter, the score now is 1-1. It seems Thranduil gets bonus points in this round for running after her, while Glorfindel remains behind. Wrong move, Glorfindel, wrong move I tell you! Now Thranduil gets the spotlight all to himself. You go, King of Greenwood!

Sorry if I wasn't able to update as soon as possible. It's exam week and I have tests and papers to work on.

Another sorry because I won't be able to reply to everyone's messages like I always do. My time is really limited so I hope you guys understand. But! I'll just make special mentions of those who brightened my whole week last time: O**verlord Rousdower, Am4444, melodicechoes, Lovitall, only-one-mirkwood-princess, Guest, StarofSea, Lord Illyren, SarahWeasley, Carastein, Saura9, May, Gremalor, Elentar, Lady of Mirkwood, Stella, Omorfi Enas, and Senshi at Heart.**

***SparklesJustReads**, I think the concept of Thranduil with girls girls girls around him started from The Hobbit films. That sounds fine, I guess, but I really cannot imagine our beloved Elvenking with so many girls. LOL. Besides, that's a LOT of character development in a fic. It's okay to give Thranduil a run for his money—he's a King so he has enough to spare. XD

Thank you all for the lovely reviews! I appreciate everyone for taking their time to review! Although I am aware that someone expressed disappointment about the reunion, that's okay! I hope this one makes up for it. Enjoy the return of Thranduil in the game, because he's going to play by his rules from now on!


	60. I Atherdad

**Chapter 60**

_**I Atherdad**_

* * *

The river looked so beautiful now; the shafts of sunlight were reflected on the water and went to his face, the air was warm and heavy with the scent of flowers. A brown trout swam swiftly on the river; wild silver flowers bloomed between the overgrown roots of the golden trees.

Thranduil sighed contentment, leaning against the tree trunk and looking down at his reflection on the water. On the other side of the tree was Erynlith, also leaning against the trunk and humming to herself. They had been sitting like that for quite some time, just enjoying the silence. Silence, after all, was comforting to Thranduil, even back in Greenwood. He disliked the noise coming from his counsellors, the shouts of the kitchen attendants whenever wine was spilled, or the irritating shuffling of Celairis's parchments in the counsel room. Here, in Lórinand, it was more peaceful—no counsellors and documents to trouble yourself with.

"Are you still back there?" Thranduil said, fighting the urge not to glance over his shoulder and look at her.

Erynlith moved and the grass shuffled; she tucked her feet under her white skirt. "Still here, tra-la."

"A flower for your thoughts?" He plucked one of the small silver flowers and reached out behind him.

"Oh, but of course." She smiled and took the flower from him. "Thoughts, thoughts, tra-la... What am I thinking?" She twirled the flower between her fingers. "I am thinking... about those well nigh two thousand years lost..."

He knew it would go there. "A hundred years should be no problem to us Elves. Two thousand years—still not a problem. We have all the time in the world."

It was not convincing to her. She sighed and looked at the flower again. "Raithon came to Rivendell once. Amroth went there several times. How come you never visited even just for a day?"

"How come _you_ never visited Greenwood?" Thranduil looked behind him and saw that she was hugging her knees. He gulped and leaned back again. "I was a busy person in those years. I have to build up my kingdom, make sure everyone is safe and protected. The fortress—" He thought of the underground palace he and his people built— "It took almost a hundred years to finish building the fortress. Then we have to create the outpost for the Elven-guard, cellars and water gates..."

"I see." Erynlith nodded. "I did not go to Greenwood because I was busy myself. Elrond's children kept me company most of the time. If not, Gildor and I travelled to Lindon and paid a visit to Lord Círdan, Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel."

"But not a visit to me?"

She ignored him. "When Glorfindel arrived, my life was more bustling than ever."

He did not appreciate the fondness in her voice when she mentioned the warrior. "And now we're here."

"Yes, we are here, though I wish I was not."

"You do not want me here?" he asked, his voice sounding a little dejected.

"No! That's not what I—"

She was about to turn around and face him when Thranduil called out playfully, "First one to turn around loses."

"As I was saying..." Erynlith pouted and went back to hugging her knees. "I did not mean it that way. I just want to go home and get my life back. I want to be a minstrel in Lord Elrond's home, to be Erestor's sister again, and maybe fool around with Elladan and Elrohir some more." She sighed and thumped her head on the tree trunk. "We both know I am not cut out for this. Amroth must have been out of his mind when he decided to make me the next ruler."

"He actually makes sense, actually," he pointed out.

"You said actually twice."

"Because he makes sense _a lot_."

She reached behind and offered the silver flower back to him. "Enlighten me?"

Thranduil smirked and took the flower from her. "Okay, Amroth is the King of Lórinand, which we already know by now. Someone who should inherit his kingdom must be a part of his family, which we already know by now, is _you_."

"But what if that someone doesn't know how to run a kingdom? What if she doesn't know and rules and the ways of being a ruler? If an incompetent person takes the kingdom, the kingdom would fall shortly, tra-lo."

"Not at all," he countered. "Anyone can learn how to rule a kingdom. I could lend you a hand if you want." He kissed the petals of the flower and handed it back to her. "What do you say?"

Through her peripheral vision, Erynlith saw the flower was being handed back to her again. She accepted it and mused. "You will teach me how to manage Lórinand?"

"I see no problem in that." He shrugged. "After all, it is only kind to offer help when your neighbouring forest needs assistance."

"It will take a long time," she whispered, her lips brushing against the petals. "Greenwood will need you back as soon as possible. A King should not be gone for too long. Your counsellors will not like your absence, tra-la."

His thoughts went back to Celairis, and he had been so engaged in talking with Erynlith that he had forgotten about his dark-haired beauty back home. "I am sure they understand," he said. "My Chief Counsellor could handle the kingdom while I am gone."

"But—"

"I am staying here," he told her stubbornly, whirling around to look at her. He saw her smug look and for a while he was confused.

"First one who turns around loses, tra-la," Erynlith sang cheerfully and jumped to her feet.

He muttered curses under his breath, as he fixed his robe and dusted the grass off his breeches. He followed her down the river that coursed behind the palace, and wondered where she was taking him. "Where are we going?"

"Hm, who knows?" She shrugged and smiled at her flower. "How is everybody back in Greenwood, by the way?"

"Oh, everyone's still the same. Santien remains head of the infirmary, and she has more healers to help her with it. We have more guards as well, and Raithon is still Captain of the Guards. Counsellors, still hounding me with their reports; kitchen attendants, very talented at spilling good wine—"

Erynlith laughed, which made him smile. Then, she remembered something important. It hurt just to think about it, but she had no choice to ask him. The sooner she found out, the sooner she would stop hoping and perhaps foolishly think of something else.

"Tell me about the Queen of Greenwood."

His smile changed into a frown. "What queen?"

She stopped meandering and gave him an equally confused look. A few moments passed in silence, with them still staring at each other. Her heart suddenly felt heavy. "Your queen, I mean. Wife? Consort? Do those words ring a bell?"

"I have no queen," Thranduil confirmed.

Her eyes widened and it felt as though her heart was leaping for joy. Her mind did not know what else to feel, but her heart did it for her. It swelled with happiness, and she had to clutch her chest to make it stop beating so fast.

"I thought... all this time..."

"That I am married to someone else?" He approached her and was glad she did not back away like the last time he did that. He looked down at her, a mischievous smile curling on his lips. "Did you honestly think I have pledged myself already?"

Ashamed, she nodded.

"Unbelievable." Thranduil sighed. "Is that one of the reasons you did not go to Greenwood, because you think I am—"

"Of course not!" She punched his shoulder, but not strong enough to hurt. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. "I just thought it was natural for kings to marry, so that they could have a queen and be happy."

"I don't need to be married to be happy."

"I know, I know!" She groaned and covered her blushing face with her hands, the silver flower dangling between her fingers.

"What about you?" His voice suddenly turned serious. "How come you are not pledged to someone yet? Wait, let me guess. Ah, Erestor disapproves all of your suitors, doesn't he?"

She laughed and looked up to him. "_If_ I had suitors..."

"You don't have suitors? You lie," he accused her.

"No, really. I have no time exchanging teases with all the other elves. If someone ever expresses mild interest, you can count on Erestor to scare them away the next morning." She covered her mouth and laughed again. "One time, one of the scouts gave me _eltiria_ for my begetting day and I had to spend the whole day locked in Erestor's room while he worked."

He smiled, but tried pushing his luck further. "What about Lord Glorfindel?"

"Hm, what about him?" She touched the flower petals and took a whiff of it, paying half of her attention to the blond Sindarin elf.

"He is not your suitor?"

"Who?"

"Lord Glorfindel."

"What about Glorfindel?"

"Is he your suitor? Is Glorfindel your suitor?" His temper rose now, and he gritted his teeth to keep himself from bursting. _Be gentle_, he remembered Raithon's words of wisdom that early morning. _Speak pleasantly—damn it! How could I be pleasant if she's not paying attention?_

She blinked at him innocently. "Is that even a real question?"

Thranduil snatched the flower from her hands and waved it high above his head. He smirked down at her. It reminded him of the golden days when he was still a Prince of Greenwood and she was an eccentric minstrel from Rivendell, both playing the same childish game. It was hard to believe that it happened two thousand years ago.

"Is Glorfindel your suitor: yes or no?"

"Never." Erynlith glared and placed her hands on her hips. "Give it back now."

"A thousand years and he is not your suitor?" He scoffed. "You're lying."

"Why should I lie about Glorfindel? He takes no interest in me whatsoever. Besides, we are friends. It would be strange if he takes a sudden liking to me. And he has many admirers back home, more than Erestor and Lindir combined ever had!"

Still he refused to believe it. "Perhaps he just doesn't tell you, but always shows it."

She could not understand where this conversation was heading. "Would you stop it and give me the flower back?"

"Has he ever held your hand? Embraced you or even kiss you on the forehead?" Thranduil himself did not know where it was leading, but he felt rather playful and mischievous with her. He missed teasing someone who had the humour to be teased; Santien had no sense of humour whatsoever, and Celairis would only smile and return to her work. Even if he did not want to learn whether Glorfindel was interested in her or not, he _just_ felt playful.

"So what if he does? It doesn't mean anything." She huffed.

"You are the most clueless elf I have ever known, did you know that?"

Erynlith stopped glaring at him and murmured, "But... it doesn't really mean anything, _does_ it?"

His mischievous smirk was gone. He dropped his hand to his side, and studied her face; she seemed earnestly clueless, looking like a child, and did not know what to do about it. He sighed and scratched the back of his head. "Maybe to you it means nothing, but to him..." He did not want to admit out loud that _maybe_ Glorfindel liked her more than a friend.

"Come on; let's go back to the banquet halls." She gestured him to follow her.

"Finally, because I am starving." He took her hand and placed the silver _niphredil_ in her hand. "Here you go."

"Ah, goodie, tra-la."

Thranduil walked a few steps behind her, and he smiled when he saw Erynlith kissed the petals of the flower.

* * *

Sensing someone else's presence, Haldir looked down from his position on the bough and saw the Captain of Rivendell wandering alone. Ever since Glorfindel arrived last night, Haldir did not attempt to be friendly with the warrior—not that he _wanted_ anyway. He had no time to waste, but now that the Elda was striding across the forest in silence, Haldir leaned on his bow as his gaze followed Glorfindel's trail, admiring the older elf's confident strides and powerful built. Perhaps one day, when Haldir was older and wiser, he could be as good as Glorfindel.

"Is there something you would like to tell me?"

Haldir flinched but it was already too late; the warrior was looking up at him with an inquiring expression. Shrugging, the warden jumped off the bough and landed in front of the taller warrior, feeling his stern eyes upon him. Proud as he was, Haldir lifted his chin and met those eyes. "I was wondering if Erfaron feels well enough to command the wardens today," he said.

The Elda seemed surprised. "You do not have orders?"

"None." Haldir shrugged. "She has been mourning for days and now she seems occupied. Where is she?"

"Somewhere..." Glorfindel's voice faltered reluctantly. He did not want to remember that Erynlith was out there with the King of Greenwood, speaking of things and sharing jests that might make Erynlith laugh. Out of all Elves, it should have been Glorfindel making her feel safe and secure, not the King.

"Would she be able to take command now?" Haldir asked again, sounding more anxious. "We have no Chief Marchwarden, no orders and no one to follow. We need her orders now."

"Let me see into it," Glorfindel assured him. "Erfaron discusses the realm with the King of Greenwood. It would be wise to let them speak. For now, take charge of the palace and the surrounding flets."

"I would rather take direct orders from her."

"She is occupied as we speak."

Haldir drew himself taller. "It is urgent."

Glorfindel sighed. He felt tired, even though he had done nothing all day but walk and think, perhaps even overthink. Everything felt heavy in him—his robes, his head, and one that he would not dare to admit: his heart. He wanted to seek her out and return with her to the fortress, but he could not find her. He did not want to come upon her and the King on the rivershore or underneath the trees. He was tired of thinking about it, and here was the strict, humorless marchwarden, raising his voice at him.

"I cannot argue right now. If you want, you can watch over the borders while I remain in the palace. Better yet: I would take the watch tonight and then you remain in the city. You've been working hard lately, and I know Erfaron appreciates it."

Unexpectedly, at least to Glorfindel, the stern marchwarden's face brightened with a smile. "In that case, I shall stay here tonight."

With no further thoughts, the warrior brushed past the beaming warden and headed off, his mind returning to his earlier musings. He gritted his teeth as he thought of Erynlith laughing with the King.

* * *

"Are you all right, Eryn? Would you rather get some rest?"

Erynlith raised her palm as she tried to catch her breath. "I'm good."

"No, you're not." Thranduil walked back to her and crouched to peer at her flushed face. He sounded concerned. "Shall we take a break from strolling? You look pale. The wardens would wring my neck if they find out I am treating you badly."

She smiled at that, following him towards the rivershore again. "They would not do that," she told him. "Haldir and the others are good boys."

"You make it sound like they are children." He sat cross-legged on the floor as Erynlith leaned against the tree, chest still heaving. When she closed her eyes to rest for a while, Thranduil also fell silent and observed her face: the locks of her hair that had gone astray, her dark lashes and flushed cheeks, her lips curved into a small smile. Quietly, he laid his head in her lap, pressing his cheek against the fabric of her gown.

Her grey eyes flung open. She looked down at him incredulously. "What are you doing?"

"Resting." He grinned and nuzzled his nose on the fabric again, feeling the softness of her thigh underneath. Then he observed her appearance again, sat up abruptly, and snatched the blue ribbon from her hair. He tossed it towards the river.

Erynlith gasped as she clutched the dishevelled mess that was her hair. "Thranduil! Why did you do that? Glorfindel fixed my hair for me this morning, and it was his ribbon, too!"

He smirked triumphantly, knowing that he outscored the warrior this time. "I like it more when your hair is unbound, and you do not need his ribbons. If you want, I can have someone make them for you—in all colours you want even."

She huffed and slumped back against the tree. "I want nothing but Glorfindel's ribbons."

His smile turned into a frown. He went back to rest his head in her lap, rubbed his cheek on her thigh, and felt her hand smack him on the shoulder. He closed his eyes and sighed. "I've missed you, Eryn."

"Hm, what?"

"Nothing." He rolled so that he would look up to her. "I missed hearing your voice, Eryn. Would you sing for me?"

She pursed her lips. "Why would I do that?"

He shrugged. "Because I asked you to?"

"Oh, fine." She laughed and smoothed his pale golden hair off his forehead. "What shall I sing about, tra-lo?"

He smiled his innocent smile. "Anything you like, tra-la."

Again, she laughed. "I have been working on a new song since last month. No one has ever heard it from me. Besides, it is still unfinished, so I cannot tell if it's good, tra-lo. Would you like to hear it?"

"I would be honoured."

Then, with a sad smile, Erynlith sang quietly:

"_An Elven-maid there was of old,_

_A shining star by day:_

_Her mantle white was hemmed with gold,_

_Her shoes of silver-grey._

_Where now she wanders none can tell,_

_In sunlight or in shade;_

_For lost of yore was Nimrodel_

_And in the mountains strayed."_

Thranduil immediately sat up and touched her hands. "No," he whispered fervently. "Stop, Eryn. I do not want this song."

She snatched her hands from him and continued, as her tears began to form again:

"_Amroth beheld the fading shore_

_Now low beyond the swell,_

_And cursed the faithless ship that bore_

_Him far from Nimrodel._

_From helm to sea they saw him leap,_

_As arrow from the string,_

_And dive into the water deep,_

_As mew upon the wing."_

Now Thranduil jumped on his feet, angry. "Stop that. Anything _but_ this song, Eryn! You cannot do this to yourself. Nothing would come except sadness, and you must not give it to yourself."

Erynlith buried her face in her face and skirts, and began to cry again.

At once, he regretted his outburst. He sat in front of her, touching her shoulders and hands, hoping it would make her feel better. It did not.

"Eryn, please," he whispered gently, lifting her tear-stained face. "Forgive me; I should not have raised my voice. But you should take my words into account: Amroth would not want you in this state. He would not want to see you so broken and alone—because I am here now. I am here and I would not leave you."

"But Amroth left me," she argued, sniffling. "I was there and I should have saved him. Even now Nimrodel and Mithrellas are lost in the mountains." A sudden terror flashed in her eyes. "I should have not left them behind. I must return after them, yes. I must rescue them from the Orcs and Wargs." She bound to her feet and started to walk away.

Thranduil saw a woman obsessed in keeping everyone safe in her, and it caused him great fear. He took her hand and gathered her in his arms, trapping her into a tight embrace. He could feel her tears soaking his robe, but he did not care.

"You did everything you could, Eryn. Whatever you did was the best of your ability. The fate of Amroth and Nimrodel had never been in your hands, but theirs. You should not blame yourself, for all I know Amroth would never blame you. You know he adores you—his little cousin who always gets in danger. Please don't do this to yourself."

If there was one thing she needed the most, it was Thranduil's comfort. Thranduil personally knew Amroth, something that Glorfindel lacked. Even if Glorfindel tried his best to soothe her, his words meant next to nothing, for he did not know her cousin, and her cousin did not know Glorfindel. But Thranduil and Amroth were good friends and almost brothers.

She considered his words for a moment, feeling rather safe in his arms.

"I've missed you, Eryn," he whispered, barely audible.

"Hm? What?"

Chuckling, Thranduil kissed her hair and searched for her eyes. "I missed you, Eryn."

"Oh," she murmured, wiping away the rest of her tears. Then she smiled. "I missed you, too, Thranduil."

* * *

*_I Atherdad_ \- The Reunion

*_Song of Nimrodel_ \- by J.R.R. Tolkien

**Next Chapter:** Glorfindel makes a comeback... and then some.

**Author's Notes:** *sports commentator's voice* Thranduil takes the lead with 2-1, folks! Surely the King of Greenwood knows how to handle things smoothly and efficiently. Bonus points goes to him for playing the "It's-not-your-fault-because-Amroth-loves-you" card. However, the famed Balrog-slayer contemplates his wrong decision from the previous chapter. Well, Glorfindel, you're losing so you better step up your game!

Oh, by the way! I have also updated these collection of one-shots about little elfling Eryn and Erestor, t̶h̶e̶ ̶g̶r̶u̶m̶p̶y̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶a̶n̶x̶i̶o̶u̶s̶ ̶b̶a̶b̶y̶s̶i̶t̶t̶e̶r̶ the Captain of Rivendell. It's called _**Forever Young**_, so if anyone's interested (or curious), please check it out! (^._.^)ﾉ

***bettsam0731** \- Yeah! Fist bump!

***Overlord Rousdower** \- Glorfindel needs to make a move—like real soon. Else Thranduil's going to take all the cake home! *waves golden flag* Go Glorfindel!

***LovelyThorn** \- Soft-spoken Glorfindel versus the smirking Thranduil. Let's see how this one goes. ;)

***juliacensi95** \- Guiliaaa~! I really, really missed you! I literally jumped out of bed and laughed out loud when I read your review! It's good to have you back! It's been a long month for the both of us, and I am sorry to hear that you got sick. Hope you're doing well now. Another apology for the passing of Amroth: it was hard to make him leave the story when his presence could have been helpful, because he ships Eryn with Thranduil no doubt. But hey, like Hercules (from Disney) said: "People do crazy things when they're in love". (I just hope Eryn and Thrandy won't make something stupid n̶o̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶y̶'̶r̶e̶ ̶a̶l̶r̶e̶a̶d̶y̶ ̶i̶n̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶e̶a̶c̶h̶ ̶o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶)

As for Eryn, she does need all the attention and loving that she needs. *cough*Thranduil*cough* He's lucky to have Raithon to guide him though, because imagine the King of Greenwood being all insecure because someone else *cough*Glorfindel*cough* is prettier than him. All hail Raithon the love expert. (Frozen reference, yay) While Glorfy is usually gentle and soft-spoken, Thrandy brings the swag with his arrogant and soft of demanding attitude. I guess the "bad boy" type gets the ladies, amirite? ;)

Thank you for the wonderful message as usual, Guilia! I hope you're doing well with your studies and work!

***diana pavaleanu** \- You're quite right. When it comes to the "Been-loyal-to-you-for-the-last-thousand-years" department, Glorfindel definitely wins!

***only-one-mirkwood-princess** \- Jajaja! OMG, es demasiado pronto para un beso! (Wait, did I get the sentence right?) Mi Español es mal. T_T But I am teaching myself by speaking some words, phrases and sentences every once in a while. Don't worry though: a kiss would come in good time. XD Thank you!

***SparklesJustReads** \- If Thranduil ever walks up to me, I would immediately go weak in the knees and collapse then and there. Yes, Raithon needs more love!

***LadySoy** \- Glad you're enjoying the story so far! Like Glorfindel, Celairis won't be too happy if she finds out what's happening right now. She needs to accept the truth, even if it hurts. But we'll get there in a few more chapters. It's a little sad to think that Glorfindel might not get a chance: he needs someone, too.

***Creme Tea** \- *waves green flag of Greenwood with you* Team Thrandy!

***Asmodeus Black** \- It's been a while, my friend! Unfortunately, I do not play Skyrim, though I have a friend who does. Why do you ask? :)

***Senshi at Heart** \- Now that they're back together, I am quite sure Thrandy won't let her go that easily again.

***melodicechoes** \- Noooo! I like Glorfindel! He's my sweet warrior. *pats Glorfy's head* There, there my love...

***Star of Sea** \- I think we need more cheerleaders like you for Team Thrandy XD

***Mahiai** \- I am glad you like the exchange between Thranduil and Raithon. Best friends forever are those two. LOL. Your term "sexual tension" makes my fangirl heart all warmed up inside. Imagine the things they could do... If Eryn would ahve slapped Thrandy, I can imagine her going, "Oh! Are you alright? You're quite the read deal, are you not?" But she's mourning Amroth and Nimrodel's disappearance, so we're stuck with her sobbing. For now...

***Lord Illyren** \- If Glorfindel keeps steering clear from those two's path, Thrandy's bound to get her back sooner or later. Glorfindel won't let that happen. *is secretly cheering for Glorfindel*

***Flucas** \- Thrandy's actually good at making our hearts melt through his delicious voice and that heart-pounding stares. *squeals*

***UMAibow** \- Raithon para El Presidente 2016~

***Omorfi Enas** \- From the way he's handling the situation, I think Thranduil stands good chance in getting her back.

***Gremalor** \- In this fic, I made Haldir a very young warden who's still blossoming to become the experienced Chief Marchwarden that we know later on in _The Lord of the Rings_ timeline. His role in the story is more like a coming-of-age theme, and like what Erynlith has mentioned above, he's basically still a child here—and what makes him protective of her is the fact that he grew up with Erfaron as his childhood hero. It's like an honour for him to work for someone he has looked up to since he and his brothers were elflings.

***Saura9** \- Perhaps I should create a segment like "Raithon's Love Advice Corner" XD

***May** \- Yes, let us not forget about Team Glorfy!


	61. Blowing a Fuse

**Chapter 61**

_**Blowing a Fuse**_

* * *

"How strange," Erynlith murmured to herself, as she looked behind her shoulder and observed the quiet forest.

Thranduil stopped from walking and turned to look at her, a small frown forming on his face. It had been hours since he met her in the rivershore, since they went back to the banquet halls for breakfast, and since the last Nandorin elf walked passed them and greeted Erynlith. Now, the sun was setting, spilling its golden lights across the whole forest.

"What is strange?"

She glanced at him for a while, and then looked around again. She seemed to be waiting for something to happen. Lórinand so peaceful was disquieting, and without Amroth, it seemed too bleak and lifeless. But her thoughts were far from thinking about her drowned cousin; she thought of someone who was supposed to be with her, but was not there.

"I haven't seen Glorfindel since this morning."

Not until she walked back to him with a worried look on her face did Thranduil realize he was frowning, a deep growl emanating from the back of his throat. The feeling was foreign, though he thought it was akin to something being ignored; and he did _not_ like that feeling. Silent as he was, he continued to observe her, how she would turn around every once in a while, fidgeting whether what to do. She looked lost, and as the sun went down and the forest became darker, she looked scared and uncomfortable.

At length, he gave up his frown.

"Where did you last see him?" Thranduil made sure his voice was neutral; he did not want to give her the impression that she was free to search for the golden-haired warrior. He was not quite done with her yet.

She fidgeted again. "Back at the rivershore, this morning. I thought he would be waiting for me, but he's not. I hope he is all right."

He turned his head to the side so she would not see his eyes rolling. It made him realize that both Erynlith and Glorfindel seemed to depend on each other, and that Thranduil had no place to come in between them. He watched in complete frustration as she bit her lower lip and sighed.

"Fine." He rolled his eyes again. "Let's go back to the palace and look for him."

"Yes." She enthusiastically nodded and led the way.

Back at the courtyard in front of the palace, all the Nandorin elves who saw her and the King of Greenwood arriving halted from their steps and bowed at once. Thranduil regarded them with a sharp look, his eyes assessing each of the bowed heads, including the wardens that Glorfindel no doubt stationed to guard the palace. Beside him, he saw Erynlith was frowning, not exactly amused of her wardens.

She caught glimpse of Rúmil and waved him to her. Her frown did not leave her face when he bowed. "You called, my Lady?"

"...Right. Um, have you seen Glorfindel? He should be around but I cannot find him, tra-lay."

"Lord Glorfindel has gone to keep watch in the northern borders," Rúmil informed her, glancing up from his bow. Then, he remembered that he was not supposed to look her in the eye when talking, because Orophin said it was disrespectful. He immediately bowed low again.

Her eyebrow rose at his peculiar actions. "Northern borders? What does he need to keep watch? Wargs again?"

"No, my Lady." Rúmil shook his head, a strand of his silver-gold hair spilling from his braid. "He intends to keep watch on those dwarves who tried to attack months ago, or so I heard."

She noticed that the young scout was balking away from her. She was then painfully aware that her voice sounded demanding, and that she had been frowning the whole time.

"I am sorry, Rúmil," she whispered and placed her hand on his shoulder.

Thranduil watched with great interest, and smirked.

"Sorry to sound so harsh," Erynlith continued. "Thank you for telling me where Glorfindel is. I shall fetch him myself." When Rúmil straightened himself from his bow, with a confused look on his face, she only smiled and winked at him.

Rúmil blinked as he watched the Lady passed him. Again, he remembered that she had not given official orders for the marchwardens yet. "What about your orders, my Lady?"

She gave him a questioning look. "What orders?"

_Eryn is far from ready_, Thranduil thought. He could not help but observe how she interacted with the elves that she was supposed to be ruling. Watching her now looking as confused as the young scout, he knew she was hopeless. She was not raised to rule a kingdom, and never received education how to do so. Amroth must have been out of his mind when he asked his cousin to take his place, and was _insane_ to drown in the Sea to leave the forest in this chaos. Amroth did it for love they say, but it was a suicide.

"Well, you see..." Rúmil stammered, unsure how to explain.

"He means you need to give direct orders about the next movements," Thranduil finally interrupted, unable to bear the pathetic air of cluelessness hanging in the air.

Now, Erynlith turned to him with the same questioning look. "What?"

Thranduil closed his eyes and sighed. "The wardens cannot do anything without your orders, Eryn. Give one now and they would follow." If she was a counsellor in Greenwood, he would have shouted at her face. The Elvenking had no time to waste for these types of things; but it was different with Erynlith.

Rúmil's face brightened as he nodded in agreement.

"Oh, I see," Erynlith drawled, and looked at the grassy floor. Her bare feet was caked with mud and bits of grass protruded from between her toes. She thought for a while, one finger tapping her chin, until she finally came up with one. She looked at Rúmil and smiled. "Just call me Erfaron and we're good to go."

"But that's not—" Thranduil growled again when she sprinted off and disappeared into the thick columns of _mallorn_. He glanced at the young scout and noticed that even Rúmil did not know how to handle this. "Keep watching the borders," the Elvenking told him. "It should do for now."

"Yes, my Lord." Rúmil bowed again and ran for the barracks.

Left alone now and quite ignored by the Nandorin folk, Thranduil felt rather lonely. What Raithon said was true, that the elves of Lórinand could care less about the King of Greenwood being here; their priority was the well-being of their Lady, even if she happened to be so clueless and laidback. He would have wanted to run after her, in pursuance of her company, but he could not do that once Glorfindel was in sight. Just thinking about it made his stomach turn and his jaw clench.

_Fine_, Thranduil thought begrudgingly. _Let him have her for a while, because he is such a little elfling_.

* * *

Despite the harsh blowing of the wind and the nearby waves of the lake, Glorfindel could hear soft footsteps coming towards him. Even then, he did not tear his sapphire eyes away from the Mirrormere, with its waters reflecting the Moon above. His eyes narrowed when the usually two dwarf-guards were joined by another three, all wearing black leather studded with dark red jewels. Most of the dwarf-guards had axes and maces; others occasionally showed up with daggers. Even then, his resolve did not stagger a little. He had heard from Orophin that these dwarves had hurt King Amroth before, and would no doubt care less to hurt Lórinand's new ruler.

Finally, the footsteps stopped just behind him, but he did not need to turn around to know who it was.

"Glorfindel, what are you doing here?" Erynlith rubbed her hands together. She shivered when the cold blast of air from the Misty Mountains hit her like a wave.

"Observing," he answered curtly, still not taking his eyes off the bearded creatures across the Mirrormere. He was wearing his silver-plated armour with the blue sigil of Imladris; his sword was in place, and so were the two daggers he kept hidden in his left sleeve and right boot.

She peeped at the dwarves and crouched down to sit in her haunches, just like the tensed warrior beside her. "You've been here since morning?"

"Yes, I am."

"Why? None of them are doing anything wrong, tra-lo."

"We cannot wait until they do something wrong, Eryn." His attention perked up when one of the dwarves snorted laughter and drummed at his belly.

She sighed exasperatedly. "You are overreacting, Glorfindel. Nothing wrong would happen. Let the dwarves guard their precious lake. If they claim Mirrormere as theirs, then let them. We have enough water supplies from the Great River in the south. None of us would die of thirst." She noticed that he was not listening; she pouted. "If the Great River _magically_ dries up, we still have quite a number of rivers to choose from."

Glorfindel gave her a sincere look. "It is not just the river. It is for your safety."

"My safety_?_ Is Lórinand unsafe like the rest of the world?"

Just as what happened with Rúmil, she was getting aware that her voice became louder and her lips curled into another tight frown. She had been doing that quite lately, she also noticed. However, she could not help it. Ever since she returned from Edhellond, she heard nothing from the Nandorin folk but "my Lady", "Your Ladyship", "do you have any orders or special requests?", or "do you feel cold and would like to have some hot soup?"

It was starting to get on her nerves that Haldir and his brothers switched from calling her Erfaron to Lady, and more so when Glorfindel made it sound as though she was helpless.

"I am just trying to look after you," Glorfindel whispered softly.

She huffed. "I am perfectly fine." She stood up and pretended to dust her already-stained dress. "Let's go back to the palace."

The warrior did not move from his spot. Instead, he kept on watching her.

"Do you want to hear an order from me?" For the first time in years, Erynlith actually snapped at him. "Fine. We are going back to the palace, Lord Glorfindel, and we are going _now_." She whirled around, her bare feet stomping on the ground, and the warrior had no choice but to follow.

Normally, Glorfindel would concern himself that she had sounded so cold to him. His thoughts were more focused on how anger flashed in her face, and how her eyes glared and seemed to be filled with frustration.

Of all the years Elladan and Elrohir had played a prank on her, pulled her hair, and switched her winter scarf for some smelly old blanket, Glorfindel had never seen her lose her temper. Sure she would chase the mischievous brothers all around Rivendell, but it was all just a game; by the end of the day, the three of them would return grinning and panting. Even if her brother Erestor pulled an argument with her that sometimes ended with the Chief Counselor scoffing, Erynlith never did as much as to return the shout and snap at him. She had her temper quite under her control. Always. Now, Glorfindel was not so sure.

* * *

Raithon was the first to notice about the sudden change in Erynlith's mood.

Dinner was served to the four of them: Erynlith, Glorfindel, Thranduil and himself. It even amused him how the King of Greenwood disdainfully avoided to shake the warrior's hand and took the seat next to Erynlith. In Glorfindel's turn, he only stayed quiet and sat on the other side. Raithon himself sat on Thranduil's left, waiting for the main course to be served. It seemed that everything was going well, until one of the attendants called Erynlith "my Lady" and there was suddenly a look of displease on her face.

"What news from Imladris, Lord Glorfindel?" Raithon tried to break the silence.

"All fares well. I have left the security of the valley in the hands of Elrond's sons. It should be all right for them to handle my task for the time being."

"What about Lord Erestor? Is he not coming for the coronation?"

When Erynlith looked up with a slight frown, Raithon was sure he made a mistake of mentioning it.

"What coronation?" She looked back and forth from Glorfindel and Raithon. She placed her spoon down and leaned closer to the table.

It was Glorfindel who answered. "I suppose it is only natural that we have a coronation ceremony, because you are, well, you are the new Queen."

Thranduil wiped the corners of his mouth with a table napkin, all the while waiting how she would react. Erynlith stayed quiet, although her face did show a hint of surprise and nervousness.

"By now I thought you know already," the King said carefully, not wanting to surprise her with all these information. "Remember that I had a coronation ceremony when I became King of Greenwood."

"But..." Her voice faltered uneasily. "It'd be just a waste of time. I don't want to be crowned. I am just here to help."

"Which basically means you are ruling the forest," Thranduil pointed out.

"We are not having a coronation ceremony," she announced sternly.

"How are your people going to recognize you if you—"

She got up from her chair. "I am going back to my room."

With a swirl of her skirts, she was running off and leaving her plate untouched. At once, Glorfindel was on his feet, chasing after the minstrel.

"Eryn, wait!" Glorfindel called after her.

Thranduil curled his hand into a fist. It was a terrible idea to provoke her, well-knowing that she did not want to be there in the first place. What irritated him more was the fact that that Glorfindel elf was running after her, as though he was her knight-in-shining armour. Well, Glorfindel was literally wearing armour, but it did not make him shine or anything along those lines.

Raithon sighed. "Well, what now?"

"I don't know!" Thranduil barked angrily, standing up and scraping his chair across the floor. He glared down at his friend and continued shouting. "Why don't you follow after her like that stupid warrior and tell her that everything's going to be all right, even if it won't! She keeps on evading her responsibilities but we _all_ know that there is nothing she could do about it!" He took a long sip from his goblet, as though it would calm him down. It didn't. "Now that warrior goes in her room and tomorrow morning everything would be great again!"

"Calm down, why don't you? You are making a scene, Thranduil." Raithon smiled at the attendants poking their heads to see what was happening.

"So what?" The King snapped again. "I have no care what would happen to Lórinand now."

"Don't say that," Raithon said gently. "I understand that we are all just upset about the turn of events, that we are all exhausted after a few days of tension. Let Lord Glorfindel handle her. Erfaron seems to be very close to him."

Again, the enraged look and the shouting. "Which happens to be fine with you?!"

Raithon shrugged. "I suppose."

"I don't understand you people." Thranduil groaned and finished his wine. "I am going to my room as well. Don't disturb me until morning."

"Fine, but before you sleep, make sure your temper has cooled down."

* * *

After endless calls and knocks on her door, Glorfindel failed to bring the minstrel out for some serious talk. Erynlith denied him entry in her room, which forced the warrior to remain standing outside and keep on calling. Some of the wardens gave him confused looks, and once Haldir came up at the base of the tree and asked if there was anything wrong. Yet Glorfindel could not admit that he was at fault for provoking his friend. He could have opened the discussion of the coronation in a way that would not make Erynlith anxious, but he failed.

"Eryn?"

"Go away, Glorfindel."

He sighed and pushed some golden strands out of his eyes. "Do you hate me for what I've done?"

There was a shuffle of blankets from the inside, but Erynlith did not open the door. "No, I don't hate you," came her quiet answer.

"Then why do you avoid me?" He hoped she would answer his insistent rapping on the door. Then, he swallowed the lump in his throat as he mustered his courage to ask, "Would you rather have Thranduil speak to you?"

Finally, Erynlith appeared through a thin creak from the doorway. She seemed exhausted, creased forming on her forehead as she gave him a stunned look. "I am not avoiding you, Glorfindel. It just so happens that I have been occupied all day that I haven't had the time to be with you. I am sorry."

"Don't be. It should be me who should ask for forgiveness. I spoke out of turn during dinner. I should not have done so."

His sincerity made her smile. "Are you going to sleep now?"

Glorfindel paused for a while, remembering where his flet was stationed—far, but close enough to attend if ever he was needed here. He thought of curling on the bed, covered by the soft blankets; but who was he kidding? Of course he would not dare close his eyes. Lórinand was a strange land to him. If he still had troubles coping with Rivendell, what more in Lórinand?

"I promised to join Haldir and his brothers for the evening watch. You should not be worried." He smiled at her.

"Are you sure?" She reached out to touch the dark lines under his eyes, and Glorfindel turned his head to kiss her palm. Erynlith did not flinch at the gesture. "Would it be all right if you do not rest, just for the night? Do you want me to stay in your flet?"

"Everything's fine, I promise. Get some rest. You need it more than I do." He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "Sleep well, Eryn."

She nodded and closed her eyes. "In that case, good night, Glorfindel."

* * *

Unknown to them, hidden in the shadows, Thranduil watched and listened.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** Thranduil's turn to shine.

**Author's Notes:** Happy Valentine's Day! Let's spread the love, not hate! So sorry for not updating in two weeks; I have been reading books and got carried away. I finished six books in two weeks! How's that? *congratulates myself*

***Rosiethehobbit17** \- Rosie! It's good to hear form you again. How are you now? I am so sorry about the car accident, I really cannot believe it happened to you and your lovely twins. If you want to talk, you know I'm here. Also, Feb 27 comes nearer and nearer, and I really hope you'll have a wonderful wedding!

Thank you for the review! Too bad Amroth's gone, but Nimrodel's gone, too! MUA HA HA HA! Ninny Nimrodel won't be missed, but Eryn sure does miss Amroth. But that's okay, Thranduil's here to save the day! (Oh, I rhymed!)

***Senshi at Heart** \- Ooohh! A jealous Glorfindel makes me all fuzzy inside! I can just imagine him glaring and huffing and all that. XD

***Asmodeus Black** \- Thank you! Glorfy shall have his time, but not right now. Yes, there would be a sequel since this story is getting longer and it needs to be cut down in two parts, I think. I hope to see you again when the sequel gets published. :3

***Flucas** \- Watch out though. Thranduil won't back out without a good fight!

***Rhiannon** \- Hello! I am glad you're enjoying the story! You still have time to decide whether to choose Team Thrandy or Team Glorfy, because the confrontation has barely begun. LOL. Now, forget your homeworks! Math and elves don't sit well; in any case, Elves always win! Also, glad to know your boyfriend enjoys this, too. :)

***Lord Illyren** \- Noooo! Please don't be harsh to Glorfindel. Plus, I do not think Eryn would send him away because Thrandy's around. These two elf lords are a good balance of a soft-spoken and ill-tempered one. ;)

***Elentar** \- Glorfindel won't be alone. He has an army of fangirls (me included) out there somewhere. There's still time for him and Eryn. I hope.

***Gremalor** \- Then I shall make Haldir appear in chapters as often as I can. XD

***Omorfi Enas** \- You've made good points there! Glorfindel remains dependent on Eryn for his nightmares, and he thinks she's the only one who could help him. Their closeness with each other is something that Thranduil won't be able to understand, for now at least. As for Thranduil, I think he won't mind showing off (he's a proud elf, really) as long as it means he would win in the end and put Glorfy to shame (because why compete when your victory isn't assured?)

***Lovitall** \- All in good time, my friend. Patience is a virtue. XD

As for your question, Oropher and Thranduil fought in the Battle of Dagorlad (the fight in the FOTR prologue). Tolkien made no mention of dragons present during the battle, though it might be plausible considering that Sauron had command over Morgoth's legions, Orcs and evil Men included (not sure if Balrogs fought, they were not mentioned). Peter Jackson might have added Thranduil's scar and implied that he fought dragons, to dramatize the importance of Smaug in the films.

Hope this answers your questions. :)


	62. Come Away

**Chapter 62**

_**Come Away**_

* * *

Winter was fast approaching. In other words, _Aduial en Meleth_ was fast approaching.

The only worry of the Nandorin folk was that there would be no evening celebration for this year, considering what had happened from King Amroth's demise to Erynlith's refusal to take the leadership. The consolation the Nandorin elves only felt was the beauty brought by winter. It would be a bland winter, though, without the annual evening of romance that the elves, especially those deeply in love with someone, were looking forward to. Others whispered behind their hands, their breaths smoking in front of their faces, on how could Erfaron neglect to acknowledge such an important event. Some began to gossip that Erfaron was insensitive, that she did not care, and did not deserve to rule Lórinand.

Walking amongst them, often hidden by the shadows, Thranduil heard these whispers and did not appreciate them. His eyes narrowed, despite knowing that none of the Nandor would see or give attention to him. It had been a month since he and Raithon arrived in the golden forest. As far as he was concerned, Erynlith still refused to mention any plans.

When one of the female attendants walked past him, the Elvenking waved his hand and beckoned her to come closer. She complied, and bowed her head to him.

"The warrior, where is he?" Up until now, he refused to openly address Glorfindel by his name, and Thranduil himself did not understand why he disliked mentioning it so much.

"Lord Glorfindel is in the infirmary," the attendant answered timidly, her shy brown eyes fluttering every once in a while to peek at the King. She took notice of his green tunic and dark breeches, the leather boots and the brown vambraces on his arms. It seemed he was going out for a hunt. "He often checks if everything in the forest remains in good condition."

_He has finally made himself welcome here_, he thought begrudgingly. _If Nimrodel was present, she would glare and order him to leave her forest._

The thought would have made him laugh, but thinking about Nimrodel made him think about Amroth. He suddenly felt that he missed Amroth, who had been the brother he never had, even though it was Amroth's fault in the first place why Lórinand was in jeopardy. _But if not for him_, a voice at the back of his mind whispered, _you wouldn't have gone to Lórinand and meet Eryn_. Thranduil agreed with the voice, and with a dashing smile and flick of his hand, he sent the timid attendant off to her duty and also noticed the faint blush that covered her cheeks.

Dried leaves crunched under his feet, despite his care not to make a sound. Autumn in Lórinand was much like in Greenwood; short but a fearful time, with the thought of winter coming into mind. Some Elves loved the winter, but some were more concerned about the lack of warm water, green plants, and ripe berries. First week of autumn made the leaves turn from golden to dark brown, the vines that coiled around the staircases became dry.

Thranduil stopped in front of the grand palace that was built between two _mellryn_. It had been King Amdír's palace, then Amroth's palace, though now it was no more than a shelter for someone contemplating whether to rule the forest or not. Ever since the thought of a coronation ceremony was mentioned, Erynlith had remained pensive most of the time, and the Nandorin folk had complained that they saw little of her.

He looked left and right, taking notice of the few elves that were walking around the courtyard. Without wardens guarding the foot of the staircase, he went off and ascended until he stood in front of her door. He bit his lower lip, unsure whether to continue, but a voice in his mind urged him to knock. And so he did.

"Whoever you are, go away." Erynlith's voice in the other side of the room sounded soft and muffled, possibly by her blanket.

He said, "It is me, Thranduil. Would you please open the door for me?"

Inside her bedchambers, she groaned and pulled the blanket off her head, scampered out of her bed and went to the door. She opened it slightly, her eye peeking through the thin crack. She saw the Elvenking leaning against the railing, and then moved forward when she opened the door a little wider.

"What do you want?"

He was glad to know that she was not crying, because part of him did not want to see another maiden crying in front of him. "You haven't left your room for a while. Everyone's looking for you."

"Are they looking for me or for the so-called Lady?" She sighed and avoided to look into his eyes. "There is a difference between the two: I am Erynlith and the Lady they are referring to is someone else. Did Glorfindel tell you to come here?"

His jaw tightened upon hearing that. "No, the warrior did not tell me. I came here on my own accord," he answered as softly as he could.

She only nodded and moved to close the door on his face. "Good. Um, thanks for stopping by."

"I am not quite done with you yet." Thranduil immediately stretched his hand to block her path, and so that the door would remain open for him. He met her startled look, and his eyes softened, only for her. "I have something in mind," he murmured.

"What?" She tried to recover from that fact that he had just stopped her from leaving him there, and it frightened her that he was becoming demanding again, just like before in southern Greenwood, when King Oropher and King Amdír still lived.

He stopped for a moment, gathering his wits and making his voice was pleasant as possible. It had been Raithon's idea to invite her elsewhere, because he knew it would delight her very much. Thranduil, despite the arrogance and the confidence, had actually felt unsure about the plan. At the back of his mind he imagined that Glorfindel would arrive and come in between them again, and that Thranduil would be pushed aside and be ignored for the rest of the day.

_Not today_, he told himself.

"Do you have something to say, tra-la?" Erynlith prompted, cocking her head to the side.

"I do." Thranduil gave his signature smirk, and felt his confidence boost when he saw her smile. There was no Glorfindel in sight, thus he would take his chances. Right here, right now. "How would you like to come to Greenwood with me?"

It seemed her world had stopped. Was she hearing correctly? The King of Greenwood himself was inviting her to his kingdom, the forest that she had loved so much long ago. She stared at him, and was only aware that she was gaping when Thranduil chuckled. She blinked her eyes, considering her options. But her heart was beating faster and faster, excitement coursing through her veins. She began to imagine all the exciting things she could do in Greenwood—away from all these troubles and problems.

She could be Erfaron again, not the Lady, and Thranduil had just offered her a chance of escape.

"Is it possible...?" She wanted to leave Lórinand, but it was an uncomfortable thought to leave everyone behind just for _her_ happiness. What about the Nandorin folk? Haldir and his younger brothers?

Thranduil leaned against the doorframe and brought his face closer to her. "Of course you could leave," he whispered, observing how her eyes twinkled at that. He kept his smile hidden. He could think of thousand ways to persuade her, and without mentioning the dreadful L-word.

"But... everyone would be worried if we leave..."

"No, they won't. It would only be just for a few days. Spend the rest of autumn and winter in Greenwood."

"And the wardens? They would not allow it."

"Like I said..." He rolled his eyes. "Just for a few days. Do you not want to see the beauty of Greenwood during winter? Do you remember Santien and Amardís? They would be extremely thrilled to have you back."

She looked up to him, pouting. "What about Glorfindel?"

The mischievous grin on his face vanished. It irritated him that she constantly thought of that warrior's well-being while she herself was not doing so well either. She was in the middle of deciding whether to pursue her happiness or what would please the Nandorin folk, and then still had the time to mention the warrior.

"He would be just fine. I promise." Thranduil forced a smile and watched as she fell silent and considered her options again.

"Just for a few days, the rest of autumn and winter?"

"Exactly my point, Eryn."

She brightened upon hearing her name. Only Glorfindel and Thranduil were the ones to call her by name, which seemed to lift her spirits all the time.

"When do we leave?" She could not mask the excitement in her voice.

"What about now?" He glanced at the skies. It was mid-afternoon and he knew that Glorfindel and the wardens would be quite engaged in keeping watch and order in and out of the forest. No one would notice them leaving.

"Perhaps I could leave for a few weeks. Glorfindel should not mind." She nodded at him and returned to her bedchambers. She began packing some of her old dresses that were left, tossed her tunics and trousers in one messy heap, and did not forget her white bow and daggers that had been unused ever since Amroth left almost a half a year ago.

Thranduil waited until she was dressed in her travelling clothes and blue cloak. Her pack was slung over her left shoulder, the quiver filled with arrows around her waist, while her bow was strapped over her right shoulder and across her back. Seeing her in those clothes made him think of the olden days when they were fooling around at the rivershore, chased wargs and picked bluebells in the meadow. He offered his hand to her, and was surprised that she actually took it and tugged him downstairs.

"Slow down," he sharply whispered to her, trying to follow her swift movement.

"Keep up!" She tugged at his hand again as they sneaked their way to the stables, wary of all the scouts nearby.

He poked his head between the trees and saw that no one was giving much attention to the surroundings. _The warrior ought to train them while we are gone_, he thought to himself.

Pressing an index finger on his lips, he gestured for Erynlith to follow him to the stables. He fetched his white stallion and let the minstrel mount first, before he heaved himself up and sat behind her.

"Ready?"

Erynlith stiffened, now realizing that he was sitting behind her. His chest was pressing against her back, both of his arms around her to hold the reins properly. She could tell his face was close to her, as she felt his warm breath ghost about her neck. Her mouth and throat went dry at once. She did not understand why; she had been in this situation with Glorfindel before but it never felt uncomfortable at all. With Thranduil now, it somehow felt strange but _right_.

"Yes." She closed her eyes and nodded. "Let's go."

* * *

"Here comes Lord Glorfindel," one of the scouts whispered in his ear.

Haldir tore his eyes off Mirrormere and looked down. He was perched on top of a _mallorn_, clutching his bow and arrow. Without orders from the Lady, it was the golden-haired Elda who stationed him there, who was cautious about the growing numbers and hostility of the Dwarves in Moria. When his eyes fell upon the figure of the warrior, clad in gold and white, Haldir gave up his position and jumped off the tree.

"Reports?" Glorfindel gave him a stern look before observing the oval-shaped lake. More and more dwarves were gathering to guard their precious lake, and most of them carried weapons and torches.

"Enemies are still hostile," Haldir answered in the same stern voice. He stood beside the warrior, a few inches shorter than him, and pointed an index finger towards the edge of the lake. He leaned closer and whispered, "They are keeping weapons in that side, in case a skirmish ensues and they would need back-ups." He looked up and pointed towards the top of the cave entrance. "They have archers stationed there."

Glorfindel nodded in appreciation. He tapped the young marchwarden's shoulder. "Good work. You are the most reliable." Then he remembered the magic word that always delighted Haldir. "Erfaron should know that you're making good progress without her presence. It's a good start to become the next Chief Marchwarden."

Haldir's face brightened. It seemed as though his blue-grey eyes twinkled at the thought of it. He clutched his bow tighter and stood up straighter. "Yes, I hope so. Are we going to fight the Dwarves?

"No." The golden-haired elf gestured to his weaponless person. "Not if we could help it, not unless Eryn gives out orders." However, knowing his friend, he was certain that she would never resort to a fight.

"But they are hostile," Haldir countered fiercely. "They are preparing for a fight while we remain observing them! If they attack, how are we to defend ourselves when we are defenceless in the first place?"

"I understand it worries you," Glorfindel replied, with all the wisdom of a warrior who had been into countless battles. "Which is why I am asking you to keep watch. You should be able to discern whether they are planning to attack now or some other time. Give me details when I return."

Sighing in defeat, Haldir could only nod.

Then, Orophin ran towards them. His face was flushed with exhaustion. "Lord Glorfindel," he panted. "We have visitor."

"What?" Glorfindel rounded towards him with a distressed look. "Who comes into Lórinand without permission?"

Behind Orophin, someone cloaked in grey came into view. He wore a pointed blue hat, its shade partially covering his long, bushy eyebrows. He leaned against a wooden stick as he walked, and a small brown satchel was slung over his shoulder. His smile widened as he stepped closer to the elves; some nodded to him while the others only stared in wonder.

The Elda was the first to recognise him. Why not, of course, when he was among them while they sailed from the West?

"Mithrandir."

"Call me Gandalf," Mithrandir said. Standing beside the warrior, he proved to be as tall as Glorfindel, and while the elf was all white and golden, Mithrandir was all cloaked in grey and dark blue. He clapped the elf on the shoulder and said, "The Men of the South call me Gandalf now."

"You are most welcome in Lórinand." Glorfindel drew him further inside the forest, as Haldir, Orophin and the other wardens looked on in wonder. "You come at the very best of timings," he continued. "Lórinand remains unstable, the Dwarves of Moria are looking for a fight, and Eryn remains passive about everything."

"So I have heard from Lord Elrond." Gandalf shook his head. "I came here to help in whatever way I could. Has she shared plans with you?"

"She wants to return to Rivendell, for that I am most sure."

"What about Lórinand?"

Glorfindel peered over his shoulder, cautious about the wardens eavesdropping. He pulled Gandalf closer and whispered in his ear, "She plans to merge it back with Greenwood, and let Thranduil rule over everything."

"Seems plausible." The wizard bobbed his head up and down.

"Yes, but the Nandor are not quite convinced," the Elda confided. "They want her as the new Lady of the Forest, as King Amroth's successor." He could not hide the anxiety in his voice any longer. He tried countless times to persuade her into ruling, but she always refused. He did not want to sound so demanding or imposing, especially to her; thus all he could do now was watch over the forest while Erynlith lingered in her room.

"Where is she now?"

"Back in the palace. She has remained in her room most of the time."

"Are you quite sure about that?" Gandalf hummed, as he noticed a scout running towards their direction.

Haldir was first to react when Rúmil arrived. He gave his brother a bewildered look, and made him catch his breath before bringing news. Orophin went to them, and not long after, more and more wardens gathered around the panting young scout. Now alarmed, Glorfindel and Gandalf approached, as the warrior's dark blue eyes narrowed.

"What happened?"

"I... I went to deliver the Lady's lunch, as per usual," Rúmil began to explain, feeling everyone's eyes focused on him. "I knocked and opened the door when no answer came. She was gone, Lord Glorfindel, and I swear to the Valar I tried searching for her! She's gone, and so is Lord Thranduil..."

Glorfindel felt a pang in his chest. With a shaky voice he asked, "And Captain Raithon gone as well?"

"He stayed behind," Rúmil answered. "Only Erfaron and Lord Thranduil are gone."

"What do you intend to do?" Gandalf asked the tense warrior. "I am sure they have gone for Greenwood. Do you plan on riding after them and demand the King to let Erynlith go? It would not work, _mellon nín_. You and I both know it would not. Let us return to the palace and think things through. She is in good hands, I assure you. The King would take care of her."

"How could you be so sure?" Glorfindel bit on his nail, raked his fingers through his golden locks, and pulled at his braids—habits he had developed when nervous. He paced back and forth in front of the grey wizard.

"If you trust your friend, you should be assured that she could handle herself."

"I trust her with everything I have. It's _Thranduil_ I do not trust one bit."

The wizard tilted his head, smiling mischievously. "Why not?"

"I just don't, Gandalf."

* * *

**Next Chapter:** Follow the misadventures of Thranduil and Erynlith, while a storm brews in Lorinand after their escape.

**Author's Notes:** I plead guilty for updating late. I have papers to finish and lessons to study, for exams are upon me again! Well, here we have genius Thranduil with an equally genius plan (which is actually Raithon's): a proposal that not even Eryn could refuse. Now that Glorfindel knows (don't be sad, my love), who knows what measures he'd use to bring her back. Dun, dun, dun!

***May** \- Team Glorfy, always Team Glorfy.

***sleepinglionzz32** \- Eryn needs to learn how to turn down people around her. Thranduil's making good progress, I think he can handle her as well as Glorfindel can.

***Flucas** \- Ahh! Don't mention Thranduil being sexy! It makes me swoon over him all over again!

***Aelin** \- Thank you! Relaying relationships through interactions can be quite a handful, and I am thankful you find it well. Also, the usually arrogant Thranduil only shows moments of insecurity with Raithon. That's what friends are for! :)

***Omorfi Enas** \- Yes, Thranduil, the stalker king. Fortunately, no one noticed him spying, or else he's have to face an extra disappointed Eryn or an angry Glorfindel.

***Lord Illyren** \- The war you're referring to starts from here, my friend. No one takes Eryn without permission from Glorfindel! We might have prologues to the tension starting next chapter. Eryn needs to decide before these two start punching each other. XD


	63. Heart of the Forest

**Chapter 63**

_**Heart of the Forest**_

* * *

Surprisingly, the cold weather did not stop them from riding day in and night out.

However, what surprised Thranduil even more was that there were no signs of Glorfindel chasing after them, determined to get Erynlith back to the forest. He had always imagined the darkened face of the warrior, him shouting to get his horse and assembling the wardens to ride out. Often Thranduil looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was following them. Did the warrior somehow give up? No, the King would not count on that: Glorfindel did not him strike as someone who would back down without a fight.

"Ah, the Old Ford!" Erynlith cried out, the excitement unmasked in her voice.

Thranduil smiled and pressed himself closer to her, grateful of the warmth she provided amidst the cold weather. Winter seemed eager to kick in and cover the world with its snowy greatness.

"We should have brought the Elven-guard to escort us," he mumbled, white smoke puffing out of his mouth.

She shivered when his cold breath touched her neck. "Nonsense," she replied. "Travelling without an escort is one of the best."

"Of course." He clutched the reins and urged to horse carefully towards the rivershore. His eyes observed the rush of the water, with him suddenly alert of danger. "We should continue on foot," he said, sliding down from the saddle and offering his hand to her.

"Should we stay for the night?" She accepted his hand and went down, and then dusted her breeches of the horsehair. "Are we to make camp? I like making camp, tra-la."

"No camps." He looked left to right, and assessed the speed of the current. It looked dangerous to him, and he did not want to get in trouble before returning to his underground palace. He remained standing at the rivershore and holding the horse's reins. He heard a distant hooting of an owl, and to him it sounded like a warg's low growl. He turned back to her and said, "Come, we should be moving on."

She shrugged. "If you say so."

Holding out his hand for her, and one still on the reins, Thranduil led her towards the river. He took the first step on the boulder, turned around to assist her, waited until she made her step. Again he stepped, she followed, the horse followed. The Great River sounded alive with the roars of its current. In the middle of crossing, the horse neighed and panicked, pushing Thranduil off his feet. The King staggered and slipped, and would have fallen and washed away if not for Erynlith's tight grip on his hand. With one hand holding on to the horse, she pulled him up with the other. Thranduil found his balance and heaved himself up, panting.

"Sorry," he whispered in her ear, aware of the worried look on her face.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." He smiled reassuringly and went on.

Upon reaching the other end, the two elves collapsed on the ground and panted.

"That was not so bad, tra-la," Erynlith sang cheerfully as she bolted back on her feet. She eyes feasted on the great forest looming in front of her. She glanced behind her and saw the King still catching his breath, while the white stallion grazed on the grass and wagged its tail. She jogged back towards him, and bent low to peer into his eyes. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing." He shook his head, trying to look dauntless. In truth, it had been centuries since he last did something that was physically challenging; as King, he did not have the time to hunt through the woods, ride horses and cross rivers. It was Raithon's duty, not his.

"Should we stop for the night?"

"No camps," he repeated. "We should be moving on." He mounted the horse and waited for her to follow suit. He heard her sigh in defeat while she settled behind him; her arms supported her upper weight.

Once again, they continued towards the forest.

* * *

It was late in the afternoon when Raithon heard insistent knocks on the chamber door. Scurrying back to his feet, he spared a glance at the mirror before answering the door and smiling brightly to whoever was on the other side. He found himself face-to-face with Rúmil, who, due to his cheerful nature, smiled back at once to the captain.

"Good afternoon," the young scout greeted, "am I interrupting something?"

"Nothing at all." Raithon shook his head and opened the door wider. "Come in, please."

"Oh, no. I came here under the request of Lord Glorfindel. He bids you to come to the palace."

His dark eyes assessed the scout for a while, and then went down to the ground, where more wardens were gathered, like a flock of sheep. He thought Rúmil was their shepherd, despite being so young; or perhaps it was the absence of his older brother that made him the temporary leader. Whatever it was, Raithon did not fail to notice the scowls on each of the warden's faces, as he followed Rúmil down the flet.

"I am in big trouble?" He knew at once that it had something to do with Thranduil and Erynlith disappearing.

Rúmil glanced at him sideways, sparing him a sympathetic look. "Not with me though, but with Lord Glorfindel, Haldir and the rest of the wardens. They are being very apprehensive right now, and everyone blames you."

"Figures." Raithon sighed. He put his hand over his eyes against the blinding afternoon light, and continued to follow his escort back towards the main keep. There, he also met the glares of the wardens, and it made him feel cautious now. He ascended the winding staircase, entered King Amroth's throne room.

The Marchwarden was the first to react.

Haldir spun his heels, his face contorted into one of anger, and in three swift steps he was upon Greenwood's Captain of the Guards. He would have thrown himself towards the older elf, deliver a strong punch to his jaw, if Rúmil had not caught his brother's fist and shoved him backwards.

"Relax, Brother," Rúmil coaxed, patting Haldir's shoulder to make him less tense. "Don't start a fight that you cannot finish."

"Oh, I can finish alright," Haldir rasped, and glared at the Sindarin elf. "You're supposed to be helping Erfaron, not whisk her away under our noses."

Raithon stood his ground, but made sure his face remained neutral. He completely understood where the anger was coming from—he would have been infuriated should Thranduil be gone—but he remained stern on the fact that he helped Thranduil and Erynlith leave the forest, in order to gain some freedom against the pressures in the forest and of the leadership. He did not regret helping them; it was his idea in the first place and had urged the anxious King to make a move.

He looked across the room and was astounded to see the Grey Wizard. "Mithrandir, how long have you been here?"

"Half a day, at most." Gandalf chuckled, leaning against the long and narrow table. "How are you, Captain?"

"Just fine, although a little tensed as well." Raithon saw the golden-haired Elda standing near the foot of the throne's dais, pensively looking out the window. His back was turned against them, as he continued thinking, whilst it was Gandalf who showered the Sindarin elf attention.

"And Greenwood? I have heard some stories about wargs?"

"Indeed, Mithrandir. The Elven-guard often worries about their increasing numbers. The King also grieves about it."

"It has been a day at least, since Thranduil and Erynlith have gone off. Do you think they have reached the forest by now?"

The captain paused for a while, also thinking. He glanced up and assessed the weather; despite in the afternoon, it was cold and the air was almost as chilling during the night. Knowing Thranduil's cautious nature and Erynlith's excitement to get to Greenwood, both of them would have ridden nonstop.

"They must be in the forest now, perhaps even in the palace, if none of them rested." But everyone knew it was a lie.

Gandalf smiled and turned to the quiet warrior. "Did you hear that, Lord Glorfindel? Erfaron has reached the King's palace by now. No need to worry. I am sure she is in great hands."

It was not Haldir's continuous glowering that made Raithon feel insecure. It was actually Glorfindel's unaccounted silence that made him more alert. He expected that it would be Glorfindel lashing out like Haldir, and vice versa, but it was nothing like that now. He was on his guard, dark eyes boring through the back of the warrior, preparing himself should something happen. What was in Glorfindel's mind? Was he contemplating whether to punish Raithon or not? Would he be exiled from Lórinand or imprisoned?

When Glorfindel finally turned around to face them, everyone in the room fell quiet. There seemed to be a silent yet vicious ambiance around him, that even Haldir stopped scowling.

"It does not matter to me, whether she is in Greenwood or in good hands, Mithrandir," the Elda spoke slowly, letting the words hang in the silence. "She needs to be back in Lórinand, her people demand it."

"Her people?" Gandalf echoed, not quite fond of the warrior's behavior. "Or do _you_ demand it?"

"What's the difference?" Glorfindel sulked back in the corner again, his eyes focused outside of the window. He spied more wardens in the courtyard, and the thought of the northern borders unguarded made him more tensed. Without Haldir and the wardens observing those dwarves, what would happen?

"I see no trouble if she wants to be in Greenwood," the wizard replied.

"When everyone in Lórinand needs her?"

"It would only be for a while, my friend."

"Winter would be upon us soon; the Dwarves of Moria are threatening to start a fight over Mirrormere, and the one-and-only leader accepted by the Nandorin folk is elsewhere." The warrior walked towards the table, frowning. "If she wanted to go to Greenwood, she should have told me and I would have taken her there, not the Elvenking."

"What's the difference then?" Raithon interjected and met the fierce look of the warrior. "She goes to Greenwood—only the difference is that _you_ are not with her, but Thranduil. What do you have against the King?"

"Nothing that concerns anyone in this room." Glorfindel looked around the room for a while, and finally came into a decision. "I am riding after her."

Gandalf sighed and tried to pull at the blue cape, but the elf was already out of his reach.

Raithon stepped forward to block Glorfindel's pathway. "And then what?"

"I am taking her back with me." The Elda turned to Haldir. "Could you please escort the Elven-guard Captain back to his chambers, and make sure he stays there? I have pressing more matters to attend to."

Nodding, the Marchwarden grasped Raithon by the arm, and dragged him away from blocking the path of the warrior.

* * *

The road up ahead was a tangle of trees and overgrown roots. It wound around and around, back and forth, like an endless maze that would make any wanderer give up and turn back. Only in Greenwood, however, that if you turned back, you would still find yourself quite lost. The Old Forest Road was so old that it tangled with narrower pathways; sometimes it disappeared for a few steps, only to reappear after half a mile of aimless walking.

Thranduil loved his forest, but he hated the fact that he had to be _lost_ in his own kingdom. When was the last time he walked beyond his borders? _Oh right, never._

"Ah, wait, look at this!"

Groaning to himself, he turned around to indulge his travelling companion.

She was crouching amongst the thorny bushes, her arm outstretched. "Look at these pretty purple flowers, tra-la. Do you know what they are called, tra-lo?" She plucked one flower with round purple petals with red edges.

"Eryn, don't touch that!" He immediately snatched the offending thing from her hand and threw it over his shoulder. He knelt beside her and grabbed her hands, scowling at the dark purple welts on her palms. "It's a poisonous flower and it itches for quite some time. Seriously, what are you thinking?"

"Oh, I only thought they were pretty," Erynlith murmured, looking down on her hand. She laughed it off. "Doesn't matter, tra-la. It only itches."

"Come on." He groaned again and pulled her back to her feet. His hand was still reining the horse, while the other held on to Erynlith's left hand. He could care less if the itchiness passed to him as well. "Keep walking, would you? And stop touching things."

"Okay, okay, tra-lay," she sang and then beamed at him. "Thranduil!"

"Yes, I heard you rhymed." He smiled fondly and tugged at her hand. "Hurry. I want to reach the palace before evening. I am famished."

"Because you do not want to make camps and hunt for food," she admonished. "Why not?"

"It is dangerous here in the night."

"Are we getting closer?" She looked up ahead and saw a swift-running river on their right side.

"If we follow the river, we would soon reach the borders. I have often kept Raithon in-charge of these lands." He pulled her to him once again, approaching the rivershore. He could see silver trout swimming and fighting its way against the strong current. Still, he pressed on, dragging both horse and a curious elf with him.

At dusk, he let go of her hand and noticed the welts were turning into rashes. It was one of those times when he wished he listened to Santien's ramblings in the infirmary, so that he would know what to do. The itchiness spread to both of his palms, from holding Erynlith's hand for hours. She did not seem to mind though; she was more fixated on peering between each tree and boulder, as though she had never been in Greenwood before. He supposed it was only natural for her to be attracted to forests, with her being a Sindarin elf like him, as opposed to the Falmari who loved seas or the Ñoldor who loved their books and weapons.

"Are we there yet?" She scratched her palm, prompting him to slap her hand away.

"Stop scratching," he repeated for the umpteenth time, and then gazed at the dark orange hue of the skies. He listened to the howling of the wind and the rush of the river. He was certain the outpost of the Elven-guard was somewhere around here. He went back to the horse and pulled out the white bow.

"Should we hunt now?" Her face brightened at the thought of hunting.

"I need you to fire a warning shot," he instructed, tossing the bow and an arrow to her lap. He was given a puzzled look. "If you do so, the guards would find us. I have had enough of wandering without knowing where to go."

"But aren't you the King, tra-la?" She stood up and aimed towards the darkening skies. "You should know your kingdom; and why am I doing all the shooting?"

"Because you're the master archer between us." He crossed his arms and sighed. "Just... fire away, would you?"

"Fine, tra-lo." Stretching the string of the bow back to her cheek, Erynlith released the arrow, which shot up above the trees like a silver projectile. Birds cried out and flew off, the pierced leaves and branches falling back to them like heavy rain. She blinked and turned back to her companion. "What happens now?"

"We wait."

It was not so long until quick scurrying steps resonated from where they stood. Footsteps crunching over dried leaves, movements as swift as arrows, dreadful as the foreboding night were the Elven-guard of Greenwood. A large group expertly descended from the trees, swinging across branches, their bows held up. Some of the guards circled around them, prepared to strike, until someone from the head of the company lifted up his fist and signaled the others to halt.

Halt they did; once the Elvenking stepped forward, they dropped to their knees.

"_Vedui, Aran nín_," the leader of the company spoke, "_Lend and_?"

"_Mae govannen_," Thranduil returned, as he beckoned his companion to come closer. He introduced her to them. "_I eneth dîn Erynlith o Imladris. Est Erfaron estar_."

The Silvan guards stared at her in disbelief.

Erynlith smiled and bowed to them. "_Mae govannen_."

"Come." The King took her hand again, as the leader of the company shouted a command in Elvish and led the way back towards the palace. "Enough formalities so we could proceed to dinner now. I am really famished."

One of the guards took the reins of their horse; another one stepped forward and volunteered to carry Erynlith's pack and weapons. She agreed, albeit reluctantly, and followed the escort as they wound their way through the thick burrows and column of trees. The current of the river was stronger now, and she could see lights in front of them. When the leader cut off the branch that was blocking their path, Erynlith finally beheld the palace of the Elvenking.

"Can't you be any slower?" Thranduil hid his mischievous smile from the guards and tugged at her hand again, his pace quickening. "Careful though—you wouldn't want to fall off the bridge and drown yourself, would you?"

Nervously, Erynlith cast her eyes down and gasped. She was walking across the narrow bridge, and below it was the frightening watery abyss, with white foams and strong water sprays. The strength of the waves hitting the boulders scared her enough to tighten her grip on his hand and press herself closer to his body. She clung to his arm and took small steps, while the King beside her was casual and striding with outmost grace.

"If you keep walking that way, we wouldn't be in time for dinner."

"But look at this height!" she whispered sharply in his ear. "If I fall here I could never come back in one piece!"

Thranduil laughed and used his finger to lift her chin up, forcing her to gaze into his eyes. "This is why you should look at me instead."

"Ah, stop it!" She tried to cover her blushing face, pushing herself away from him, but then she remembered the narrow bridge and the river and the thought of crashing against the boulders. She shrieked and clung back to him, closing her eyes tightly.

"You are hopeless." He sighed and wrapped his arm around her waist, and used his free hand to make her head lean on his shoulder. He began to walk again, while Erynlith's eyes remained close. "You would not fall down, Eryn. I have guards at the gates to watch over, and you have me to make sure you would not fall. Stop whimpering like a child."

"But if I fall and drown, Erestor would be sad. Glorfindel and Lord Elrond would be sad. I do not want to leave the same way Amroth did..."

The very thought of her leaving the world scared him. "Hush," he scolded. "Look, here comes the gates." He nodded to the armoured elves flanking the great entrance, and waited until the doors were shut behind him. "We're inside now. Look."

Once her eyes opened, Erynlith gasped in amazement. She decided that Thranduil's underground palace was better than King Oropher's palace in Southern Greenwood.

* * *

_*Greetings, my King. Long journey?_

_*Well met. This is Erynlith of Rivendell. They call her Erfaron._

**Next Chapter:** Meetings. Reminiscing. Troubles.

**Author's Notes:** I have been gone for a month, so I plead mercy from all of you. It has been such a stressful month filled with exams, research papers, and whatnot. School is such a force to be reckoned with. I tried my best to be able to update today, because **it's Lee Pace's birthday!** *wears party hat, throws confetti* Happy birthday to the incredible actor who brought Thranduil to life! You are an amazing human being, Lee, and thank you for giving us an awesome Thranduil!

But wait! There's more!

Today's the Battle of Morannon, the destruction of the One Ring, and Sauron's downfall! So that's a lot of reason to party today!

Aside from my excitement for the events, I would like to thank everyone who has patiently waited and read this chapter. Now let's party!


End file.
